


A Full Quiver

by Bdoyle1807



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Discipline, F/M, Family Drama, Family Humor, Hurt/Comfort, alternate universe parenting, lots of Philinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-07 23:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 194,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10372278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bdoyle1807/pseuds/Bdoyle1807
Summary: -  Chapter 1 A Voice in the Darkness -Something new....venturing into the alternate universe where Phil and Melinda have built a very unconventional family and how that came to be





	1. A Voice in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This is rather long cuz things just grow and grow and grow sometimes and although it's not complete on paper...well cyber-paper - it is complete in my head. Soooooooooooo if folks are interested (and feedback feeds the writing kitty) I'll keep moving along.

“MAMA!” The shrill scream broke the silence of the night. “Mama, Mama, Mama,” it became a teary chant as the little voice shrieked, waking the family with her need.

May flew from her own bed in an attempt to get to the child before everyone was up. She stopped for neither robe nor slippers as she went, nearly tripping over a yawning Jemma, rubbing her eyes in the hallway.

She brushed by the older girl softly telling her to go back to bed and hoping her sons would sleep through the chaos. She noticed Phil, directing Jemma back to bed, out of the corner of her eye as she turned into her baby’s room. His hair stuck out in crazy peaks as he stood in pajama pants and T-shirt and gave her a weak smile. He’d followed her, shuffling into the hallway. She sighed when she heard the door open behind her.

“What’s going on?” Her eldest son asked around a yawn.

“She’s going off again,” the younger one added rubbing a hand through his curly hair.

‘Great, they’re all up,’ she groaned to her self as she stepped into the small room at the end of the hall.

“Mama…mama,” the little girl now sobbed, stretching her arms out to May as she reached the bed. “Mama,” she cried into her neck as May scooped her up and the child wrapped her self around the woman.

May kissed her head repeatedly as she cooed, “It’s okay baby, you’re okay. Mama’s here. Shhhhh…shhhh.” She held the tiny girl close rocking her side to side, one arm supporting her bottom, the other pressed against the back of her head. The child trembled and continued her mantra, despite being comforted. 

Melinda groaned softly. The child was soaked through, so was the bedding and now she too was wet, but there was no way she could peel the little girl away to change either of them. She looked up and recognized the silhouette leaning on the doorframe.

“They’re all back in bed.” He yawned, pushing himself upright and moving toward her. “Trip and Jemma are already asleep, but Fitz…”

“He’ll be awake for hours.” She finished for him.

The little girl’s crying had quieted into shaky sobs. Only Melinda and Phil could hear her soft cries of ‘mama’ repeated over and over into her mother’s neck.

“Let me change her. You get cleaned up.” He reached to take the child but she wrapped her self tighter into her mother, her sobs growing louder again.

Melinda shook her head pressing the little head closer to her and rocking a bit more rapidly while adding a subtle bounce as well. “Not yet,” she whispered. “Go see if you can calm Fitz. We’ll be okay.” She nodded toward the door.

“Mel, it’s two-thirty, you’ve got to sleep too.” Phil pleased in a hoarse whisper again reaching to take the child.

“I will,” she smiled, “I will.” She turned from him shushing the little girl and kissing her head.

The man frowned but turned and stepped back across the room into the darkness of the hallway. Melinda continued the bouncy rocking, comforting her baby as she paced back and forth across the room.

Phil carefully pushed open the door to the boys’ room, knowing his younger son would be just inside. He was not wrong. The small boy stepped back and tried looking around his father’s form across the hallway into the room opposite his.

“Come on, Fitz, back to bed. It’s pretty early, little guy.” He gently put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and walked him back to the lower bunk. Phil held back the blanket and waited for the child to climb under then tucked it around him.

Fitz pulled his arms out from beneath and folded his hands over his chest. He stared at Phil, eyes shining in the dark room. Coulson knelt down on the floor next to the bed and rested his elbows there. “She’ll be okay, Fitz, I promise.”

“Why does she do that?” The little boy asked, genuinely concerned. “Did someone hurt her? Make her scared like that?” He waited for the answer Phil didn’t really have so he continued. “Maybe she shouldn’t sleep in that room all alone. Maybe she needs company.” He nodded, agreeing with himself.

“We tried that, Fitz, you remember. We tried having her sleep with Jemma, like you share a room with Trip, but Jemma wasn’t getting any sleep.” Phil reminded him.

“Maybe I could sleep in her room with her. I could put a couple blankets on the floor and…”

Phil smiled and ran his hand through the boy’s hair. “It’s nice that you’re concerned and want to help. You’re a great big brother wanting to protect her.”

Fitz frowned and shook his head a bit. “She scares me when she screams like that.” He whispered into the blanket.

Phil stifled a laugh. “Scares me, too,” he admitted with a little smile. Fitz tried but failed to smile back.

“Mom’s got things under control now, it’ll be okay. We’re working on a solution, buddy. It just takes time, you know that.” He patted the child’s hands. “How ‘bout you try to get back to sleep, at least close your eyes til the sun comes up, huh? Try?”

“I’ll try.” The boy frowned, closing his eyes but remained on his back with his arms resting across his chest.

Phil patted his shoulder wishing the little boy would allow a bit more show of affection, but that was another thing they were working on, another thing that was taking time. He rose and walked back to the hallway closing the door with a soft click.

Melinda had quieted the little girl completely but was still unable to pry her away from the tight hold she had. She did manage to shift the child to her hip and use a free arm to open the drawer on the small chest and pull out a fresh pair of panties and a clean set of PJ’s for her. She walked down the hall still bouncing her youngest, her baby. She rested her cheek against the child’s and murmured soft sounds of comfort as she went. As usual in this now more or less nightly ritual, the child relaxed, almost asleep by the time her mother reached the large bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom. 

Once there she flicked on the soft light and gently pried the little girl from her neck. There’d be no bathing, that would wake her completely, a quick wash, just as quick a change and then back into bed. Hopefully, everyone would sleep the rest of the night.

“Skye? Baby?” Melinda whispered, lowering her head to try to look into the child’s face. “We have to get cleaned up, get out of these wet clothes.” She swayed back and forth cooing to the little girl who shook her head and tried to snuggle back into her mother’s neck. Melinda softly stopped her, bending slightly back, “come on, baby girl, just let go for a little bit. Mama’s going to get you clean and dry and then we’ll all cuddle and go back to sleep.” 

Whimpering softly and relaxing slowly, the little girl released her grip, allowing May to sit her on the marble counter top. She shivered a bit at the cold of it and wobbled in her now sleepy position. Her eyes fluttered shut as a little yawn escaped and her chin bounced to her chest. Melinda sighed and holding the child with one hand, she ran warm water into the sink and dropped a clean washcloth into it. She turned back to the girl whispering words of comfort, picked her up and stood her on the closed toilet lid. She tugged off the wet sleep clothes and dropped them onto the tiled floor. The little girl’s teeth chattered in the chill and May used the warm soapy cloth to wipe her down quickly, patted her dry, and then held out the small pink panties for the girl to step into before she pulled the fresh PJ top over the girl’s head then held out the bottoms and slipped them up over her hips. Amazingly, Skye accomplished all without ever opening her eyes. May wondered if perhaps the child was sleep walking.

Skye’s early morning screams woke them two sometimes three nights a week, but she recovered quickly falling back to sleep as if nothing had happened. She never remembered in the morning. The doctor had diagnosed it as night terrors telling them it was common in children her age. He said since Skye was not feverish or on medication of any kind, it may be caused by some traumatic event in her past. Melinda forced herself not to imagine what event or events that might have been. Then he added it also could be she was over tired, so young Skye took a nap everyday to help, but apparently, it did not. She would grow out of it the doctor assured them. Phil found the term night terrors quite ironic since Skye only seemed terrorized for a moment while it took hours for the rest of the family to recover. That shriek in the dark of the night terrified him. He couldn’t imagine what it did to the others.

Skye reached out both arms wriggling her fingers and searching for her source of comfort. May frowned, she still needed to get herself clean and changed and that could not be done holding a very sleepy little girl. Skye took a shaky breath and let out a tiny whine. Before May could react, Phil stepped between them.

“I’ve got this,” he stated taking the tiny girl into his arms. She snuggled into him making soft sleepy sounds, content just to be held. He turned back and kissed his wife over his little daughter’s head then walked slowly from the room kissing her softly and mimicking his wife’s quiet words of comfort. 

May smiled at the man she loved more than she thought possible. Sometimes she wasn’t quite sure how she’d been lucky enough to have him love her just as much. 

She pulled off the white sateen nightgown Phil had given her for their anniversary a few weeks ago. Frowning at the large jagged wet splotch on the front of it, she hoped it wasn’t ruined. She used a fresh washcloth to clean herself and smiled at the sweatpants and tank top Phil must have placed on the towel rack when he took their baby from her. She’d shower in the morning. Emptying the sink she replaced the plug and refilled it then dropped her nightgown and Skye’s soiled clothing into the warm soapy water to soak and stepped into her bedroom.

Phil was already snoring softly, Skye cuddled into his side with his arm securely wrapped around her. She smiled at the sight and walked down the hallway into the baby’s room. She intended to strip Skye’s bed and toss the bedding into the washer to soak as well, but apparently Phil had already taken care of that. She shook her head and smiled again. 

She crossed the hall and entered the boys’ room. Antoine was (as usual) wrapped like a sausage in his blankets, turned toward the wall and breathing deeply. His oversized young teen feet stuck out, but she knew better than to cover them. She rubbed a hand on his leg, the only thing she could reach on the top bunk then bent down to the smaller boy on the bottom.

Fitz had been watching her. She could see his eyes in the moon light that shone in through the window blinds. She knelt down and smiled at him. “Xiànzài shuìjiào, xiǎo nánrén. Yīqiè dōu jiéshùle.” (Sleep now, little man. It’s all over.) She spoke quietly to him in Mandarin, as she did with all of the children yet it seemed to calm Fitz a bit more than the others.

He nodded, closed his eyes and rolled onto his side. She rubbed his shoulder, rose and exited the room, stopping in the room across from the boys. Jemma was asleep, on her side with her hands tucked under her cheek. She tucked the covers around the skinny girl and kissed her temple. Jemma did not stir.

As May finally climbed back into her own bed she glanced at the clock on her nightstand. ‘Three-forty-five,’ she sighed and turned to face the other occupants of her sleep space. Skye immediately rolled away from the warmth of her father’s embrace. Snuggling into her mother’s side and resting her small hand on May’s cheek patting it softly. May took the hand and placed a kiss on her palm. The little girl moved quickly into her mother’s embrace.

May took a deep breath, wrapped her arms around her baby, and wondered how in world they had come to this. Six months ago, she and Phil were a hard working couple living the high life in a two-bedroom condo in center city. Six months ago, their only responsibilities were paying the bills and getting up for work every morning. Life had been simple, easy…a bit boring at times…but easy, simple. 

Then everything changed….


	2. It All Started with a Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Melinda travel to England after a tragedy has left a child without parents

It all started with a phone call.

Phil and Melinda May Coulson lived and worked in Washington, DC providing security for celebrities and politicians as well. They had their own business and it was quite successful. They’d traveled to all parts of the world protecting foreign dignitaries as well as ambassadors and pop stars. Phil never failed to mention that they had once been part of the detail that provided said security for the Pope. May would just smile.

They had met at Quantico and despite a rocky start had become best friends and eventually lovers. They both graduated and moved into the federal law enforcement field but found it difficult to stay away from each other. As the regulations and protocols of every agency forbid any fraternization of its agents, they elected to leave the field (much to Melinda’s mother’s dismay) and branch out on their own. Starting their own security agency, they planned to start a family as well but that just never happened and while both were disappointed in the fact, they had no children they dove into their work and it became the thing that drove them. 

Melinda’s mother had been CIA and young May had grown up in her shadow. They moved from place to place, as her mother was assigned and reassigned. At the age of ten Melinda found herself at a boarding school for girls in Sheffield, England. There she met Elizabeth Bainbridge and the two became inseparable. Lian May’s assignment turned into an appointment to the London office and Melinda spent the remainder of her school years there. While May studied political science and self-defense, Elizabeth busied herself with chemistry and physics. Yet, the girls for as different as they were, practically became sisters. When in secondary school Elizabeth met and fell head over heels for Benjamin Simmons, May was elated. She stood up for them at their wedding and returned to Sheffield a year later, with Phil on her arm, to be godmother for their baby daughter, Jemma.

They’d kept in touch through the years; video chats and social media made the world a lot smaller. Whenever their business took them anywhere near the British Isles, Melinda and Phil would ‘pop’ in for a visit. When she and Phil finally tied the knot, Elizabeth, Ben and three-year-old Jemma made the trip across the pond to reciprocate and stand up for them as well. Elizabeth teased her through the years about starting a family but it just didn’t seem to be in the cards. Not that they didn’t try. It just didn’t happen.

So, Phil and Melinda filled their life with their clients and their business. They hob-nobbed with the rich and famous, rubbed elbows with super powers and partied on the hill. Sure sometimes they missed the family they didn’t have, but life kept them busy.

And then the phone call…

It came on a rainy morning. May had just returned from a cleaning up a mess in the Bahamas. Some stupid flash-in-the-pan, famous-for-an-hour punk kid star had created quite a ruckus when he ‘borrowed’ a car, had way too much to drink and ended up being held by the authorities until ‘someone with an ounce of sense’ got him out of their country. 

She was exhausted and frustrated and had argued again with Phil for hours about refusing to take anymore moronic teenybopper wannabee rock stars as clients. And those were the nice names she used for the idiots. She was done giving her valuable time to protect them from their idiotic selves. Done. Period. Finished.

He told her to take the day and get rid of the stress. Then he left. He wasn’t angry, just frustrated.

She poured herself a cup of tea and added a shot of Jack Daniels. Yeah, she’d get some sleep and forget the whole sordid affair. She took a sip and let the liquid slide down. She just brought the cup to her lips again when the phone rang. She considered letting it go to voicemail, not wanting to deal with anything at all for the moment. But, it could be Phil and she did feel bad about the way they’d parted when he left.

She picked up the phone without checking the Caller ID. Her smile faded at the British accent that responded.

An hour later Phil was at her side, comforting, making hasty arrangements for a flight, holding her as she mourned the loss of her friend.

There had been an accident. Elizabeth and Benjamin were gone, lost when the small plane they were taking to meet a group of scientists in Paris went down in a storm. There’d been no survivors. 

Elizabeth had been an only child, raised by her grandparents who had both passed when the girls were at college. Benjamin’s family consisted of an elderly aunt, two uncles that lived in a retirement home, a brother that was spending time in the custody of the state and a sister with more health problems than there were terms to describe. His parents had passed when he was quite young. Both had agreed long ago that if the unthinkable ever happened they would want no one but Melinda to take the responsibility of caring for their daughter. At the time Melinda had agreed wholeheartedly, never believing she would actually have to become that guardian, not believing any tragedy would ever befall one, heaven forbid both, of her good friends.

Now she was on her way to England to take custody of a little girl she had not seen in almost five years, a little girl whose whole world had just been destroyed.

Melinda and Phil exited the cab and hurried up the steps of the flat, they paused at the door collecting themselves. Melinda peered at her reflection in the glass door panel hoping her eyes did not show the remnants of her crying last night and early this morning. She needed to be strong for the little girl she was about to encounter. Phil squeezed her hand and gave her a quick nod before he rang the bell.

A stout middle-aged woman opened the door. She stood well dressed in a starched white blouse and dark calf-length skirt. She pushed the wire-rimmed glasses up on her nose and nodded as she stepped aside to let the couple enter.

“Hello,” Phil began offering his hand. She took it limply as she closed the heavy door. The sounds of children came from a large room at the end of the hall.

“We’re the Coulson’s.” He tried again taking Melinda’s arm and smiling at the stout woman.

She looked them up and down then smiled. “You’re here for young Jemma,” she said with a hint of sadness. “The agency said you’d be here tomorrow.” She frowned. “I’m afraid we are not quite prepared.”

“We were able to get an earlier flight.” Melinda informed her, hoping to smooth the transition. “We didn’t want her to be alone any longer than necessary.”

“Yes,” the woman nodded as she turned and began walking away. She glanced over her shoulder and motioned for them to follow.

“You’ll be taking her to the states, then?” The woman inquired. “Away from everything she knows?” She accused.

“We’ll be staying here for a while,” Phil explained. “We understand there is a lot of red tape and we don’t want to just pull her away from everything.” He attempted to sympathize with the woman who simply nodded, pushed open a door and brushed a hand in front of her as a way to motion them inside.

They spent the next hour listening to the woman’s instructions and opinions, signing documents and providing their own documentation in order to complete what needed to be done. Phil could sense Melinda’s growing anxiety. Somewhere in this building a nine-year-old girl was mourning the loss of her parents and waiting for a godmother she had not seen in almost a lifetime. Having May explode in front of this carer and within earshot of all those children would not make a great first impression.

“I think we’ve covered everything then. Am I correct?” Phil tried to hurry things along.

The woman picked up the papers fanned out across her desk and tapped them into neat pile. She made a casual effort to scan through them before sliding them into a dark brown folder. 

“Mrs. Clarke,” Melinda began, the effort to control her temper clear in her voice. “We’d like to see Jemma, now. We’d like to take her home tonight.”

The woman nodded and rose, walking slowly to the filing cabinet to store her newly created file. Melinda let out an audible breath of frustration. 

“Yes,” the woman turned and smiled. “You Americans, always in such a grand hurry,” she paused and started toward the door. “Very well, then, follow me.”

 

Jemma was curled into a tight ball on a cot in a small room. Of the six cots in the room, it was furthest from the door. Two other girls, around the same age, sat on one of the other beds flipping through a magazine. Mrs. Clarke motioned for them to take leave. They complied staring at the foreign strangers that had accompanied her into the room.

Melinda did not wait for the woman to do any more. She rushed to the cot and knelt down placing a gentle hand on the small girl’s shoulder.

“Jemma, sweetheart…” she spoke quietly, with as much compassion as she could muster without losing control.

The girl rolled toward the voice, her face blank but it was evident she had been crying. She sat up and made a very clear effort not to make eye contact with any of the adults in the room. Melinda put a hand on the girl’s knee and Jemma’s gaze went to it. She stood and walked to the foot of the cot picking up a small red satchel.

“Are we going now?” She asked in a flat tone, staring at the floor. She held the case in front of her with both hands, her knuckles turning white with the grasp.

Melinda still knelt where she had been and watched as the little girl walked toward the door. Phil stepped in front of her and took the small bag. She did not resist but continued walking through the door and down the hallway toward the stairs that led to the front exit. Mel stood and hurried to catch up, with Phil close behind.

They’d called for a taxi before being led to the girl’s room. It was waiting outside when they followed Jemma down the front steps. She made no effort to bid goodbye to the woman who waved her off but simply slid into the back seat when Phil opened the car door. 

Two hours later Jemma was asleep in her own bed. Melinda pulled the door closed with a soft click and looked toward Phil. Her heart was breaking for the little girl who would allow no one to comfort or assist her in any way, unpacking and putting away her own things before changing and climbing into bed. She’d merely picked at her supper, pushing the food around on her plate and nibbling on a small piece of bread. Very little conversation happened since no one really knew what to say or how to say it, so when the small girl whispered her request to be excused it was a welcome relief. Jemma took her plate from the table and began taking the others as well. Melinda intended to stop her, to tell her it wasn’t necessary when Phil motioned for her to let the girl continue. Quietly, the somber child cleared the table and deposited the dishes in the kitchen sink. 

“I don’t suppose Mrs. Lewis will be here to help with the kitchen chores.” She said quietly staring at the kitchen basin.

Melinda rose and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She immediately, yet politely brushed it away and walked from the room. The woman would have followed but her husband stopped her saying the child needed some time. Melinda relented knowing that Phil had lost his father at a young age and had experience with this situation that she could only imagine.

 

A few hours later Melinda rose from the bed she and Phil now shared in the Simmons’ guest room, a room they had used in the past. She walked to the window and stared across the lawn at the quiet of the early morning, noticing how much clearer the sky looked and how bright the stars seemed on this side of the world. She wiped a tear from her cheek remembering the nights she and Elizabeth had spent lying in the cool grass, staring at those same stars and sharing their dreams. How could such a tragedy have happened and how was she, with no maternal experience at all, to care for a small broken girl that wouldn’t even allow her touch. Phil said it would get better. He should know. He knew the pain Jemma bore.

She turned and smiled at her husband, softly snoring in the large four-poster bed. He had not noticed her absence. Quietly she opened the door and slipped into the hall intending to check on Jemma then start a pot of tea for herself. She was sure she would sleep no more this night.

Melinda pushed open the door to the girl’s bedroom and stepped inside allowing the light from the hallway to cast a sliver of brightness across the patterned carpet. She stepped next to the bed and took the blanket in her hand intending to tuck it around the small child. She froze, her heart suddenly beating much faster as she stared at the empty bed. 

Taking a deep breath and calming herself, she reasoned the child must have gone to the bathroom or went in search of a glass of water. That’s what kids did, right? They woke up during the night and needed a drink. She turned and headed toward the washroom attached to the girl’s room pushing open the door and flicking on the light. The brightness stung her eyes but she no longer cared about waking Jemma. She swallowed the panic a second time finding the room empty.

Quickly she walked to the hall, measuring her steps while telling her self that the girl might be downstairs in the kitchen. Mrs. Clarke had told them Jemma had eaten very little, if anything in the few days she had spent at the center. Perhaps now that she was home, she was hungry. Resourceful and independent as Jemma had so far seemed to be it was not a stretch that the child was in the cupboard making herself a midnight snack.

From the top of the stairs, May could see nothing but darkness. If Jemma was down there she hadn’t turned on any lights, but this was her home she probably could traverse it easily in the dark. May had done that herself almost every day, padding through the apartment in DC in complete darkness so not to wake Phil. Why would a smart little girl like Jemma not do the same thing? But could a nine-year-old child, albeit a very intelligent child be so quiet as to not make a single sound? 

May shook her head as she made her way down the stairs. She checked the front door…locked, inside latch firmly closed. No one had gone outside, that was a relief. She checked the drawing room, the library, two small offices, the kitchen and the closed in porch…all quiet and empty. The back door was just as securely locked as the front and she couldn’t imagine the little girl climbing out a window. Maybe it was time to wake Phil, to let him know that six hours after taking custody of their ward that they’d lost her…in their sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a long breath then climbed the stairs.

She stood for a moment outside their room contemplating just what to say. Phil would be more frantic that she was. It was just Phil’s way. He’d probably want to call the constable or in true Phil form, Scotland Yard at least. She almost laughed. 

But no one had left the house and no one had come in. Jemma was here. Hiding? Not likely, she didn’t seem the type but maybe she had a place, a special place to go like most kids did. Melinda remembered having a space behind the large coal stove in her grandmother’s house. She would retreat there when the world just got too much for her to handle. Kids did that too, didn’t they?

It wasn’t a very big house, but Jemma had lived there all her life and knew it much better than her guardian did. She could be just about anywhere from the dirt cellar that was the foundation to the small attic that many years ago would have been the servants’ quarters. 

Even so, Melinda would still need Phil to help her find the child. She couldn’t search the whole house on her own and if she started calling the girl’s name, not that she’d answer, she’d wake him anyway. She stood for a moment pursing her lips and wrestling with her decision. Looking down the hallway she stared at the door that led to the master bedroom and shook her head. She let go of the door handle she had been holding and slowly walked toward it.

Opening the door slowly and carefully until it was pushed as far as it would go; she looked toward the large bed against the far wall. As she expected, a small form was curled up in the center. Melinda stepped closer; her heart breaking at the sight of Jemma holding tightly to her mother’s robe with her father’s tucked under her head. The little girl drew a shaky breath, still sobbing even in her sleep. The woman brushed the tears away that stung her eyes and pulled the blanket from the bed over the child. She backed out of the room closing the door quietly.

A moment later she was back in her own bed wrapping her arms around the man she adored. He stirred and wrapped his around her as she rested her head on his chest and let the tears she had be holding fall free. He squeezed her a bit and kissed the top of her head shushing her softly.

Phil and Melinda would stay in their friends’ home for as long as it took to settle the legal and emotional hurdles before returning to D.C.


	3. You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil's search for real estate in London earns him a bit more than office space.

A month in Sheffield turned into two and crept into three. Phil was able to keep up with the business through web chats and calls in addition to contacting a few colleagues in London who helped keep him up to date with security needs. As an added benefit he began making arrangements to open a satellite office there. Twice a week he made the three hour trip to the capital searching real estate and interviewing candidates to create this office leaving Melinda trying desperately to break through Jemma’s grief and pull her toward healing.

Jemma was thin to begin with; her refusal to eat more than nibbling on a few crackers and a sip of tea twice a day left the girl with dark circles under her eyes and the hollow cheeks of a famine victim. There were days when Melinda found it hard to look at the girl without feeling the pangs of guilt overtake her heart. 

The little girl didn’t complain, didn’t ask questions, didn’t resist or argue. She did whatever she was asked (with the exception of eating). She remained soft spoken and polite, addressing her guardians with quiet ‘yes, sirs’ and ‘no, ma’ams’ and vice versa as needed. She did what were apparently her normal chores, making her own bed each day, taking clothes to the laundry and cleaning the table after supper, which she of course did not eat. 

When Melinda sat her down and explained that they would be closing up the house and leaving for the states by the end of summer she fully expected an adverse reaction from the girl. But Jemma simply gave her a small smile and quietly asked when she should be packed. Secretly, Melinda had hoped Jemma would react badly, protest, refuse, demand an explanation, but again the girl gave no reaction. Melinda was at a loss. Mrs. Clarke had given her the name of a child psychologist, someone Jemma could, SHOULD talk to, as the woman had put it when she shoved the card toward her before they left on that first day. The priest from the Anglican Church where the family had been parishioners had visited before and after the funerals and also suggested that Jemma come to talk with him. He spoke about the stages of grief and hinted that he felt Jemma might be ‘stuck’ and unable to move forward. Melinda and Phil had weighed both options and decided to give her a little time before forcing therapy on her. They were actually impressed with their first foray into making a parental decision. But was it the right decision? Everyday Melinda had more doubts.

Phil was trying, trying to help, trying to keep their business running at home and trying to start another here. He reasoned that it would give him cause to visit the British Isle frequently and of course take Jemma along for the ride. He smiled broadly at Melinda when delivering that line. She merely shook her head. 

Today he was frustrated. He’d been to see almost twenty business spaces from high rise offices to side street store fronts and none met his satisfaction. Phil was starting to believe this might be harder than anticipated and missed his second in command giving him the feedback he really needed. He mentally kicked himself for that thought since he was providing even less back-up for Melinda in her present dilemma.

Despite his frustration he presently found himself intrigued by a small figure that had been following him for the past fifteen minutes. He’d spotted the boy when he exited the last office and couldn’t help thinking he’d seen him before. Was he the same kid he noticed hanging around that take away fish and chips place on Tuesday? Maybe he just had kids on the brain, trying to figure out some way to help Jemma through her problem. He tried to talk to her, to tell her he knew what she was going through but she merely smiled and patted his hand and told him she was sorry for his loss. 

He looked to the corner where he had noticed the boy last. Sure enough the kid was standing there, purposely facing the in opposite direction yet casting backward glances he convinced himself no one noticed. Phil walked toward him. The boy rocked a bit, nervously looking from side to side but held his ground. Phil stood a few feet from him watching, waiting to see what the kid would do. He turned toward Phil keeping his eyes to the ground and his hands in his pockets. As he got closer he walked a bit faster and as Phil expected bumped his shoulder into the man’s side as he passed. Phil smiled at the kid’s nerve and turned quickly snatching the boy by the back of his collar.

“Scuse me there, buddy,” Phil smiled turning the boy to face him. “I think you’ve got something there that belongs to me.”

The boy squirmed and reached back to pull the man’s hands away. The attempt was futile. “Let me go, you big oaf.” He swung a weak punch that never reached its target. 

Phil held the boy with one hand and opened his tattered jacket with the other exposing his wallet tucked in the boy’s waistband. He pulled it free and waved it in the boy’s face before tucking it into his inside jacket pocket. The boy stopped squirming and swallowed hard. Phil smiled but kept his grip.

“What ‘er ya gun do wi’ me then?” The kid asked barely above a whisper.

Phil noticed the grubby clothing and shoes that appeared a bit too small. The boy’s hands and face were beyond dirty and probably wouldn’t come clean without an hour or two soak in a very hot soapy tub. His hair was matted and in need of being cut. He’d seen kids like this back home, in LA and NYC and practically every city he’d had reason to visit throughout his career but always from a distance. Of course he’d had that ‘those poor kids’ thought just like everyone else but now here he was holding one of ‘those poor kids’ and having no idea what to do with him now that he did. 

Surely, he was a street kid, a pick-pocket no less and who knew what else. Phil shook him just enough to let the kid know who was in charge, but certainly not enough to hurt him. Passersby looked and either ignored what was happening or merely shook their heads and kept moving. Phil noticed a constable slowly walking down the opposite side of the street and knew a shrill whistle would bring the man to his aid. He could be rid of this street urchin and get back to his own business. He had an appointment with yet another realtor in less than forty minutes. But there was just something about this kid and somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered hearing that you can probably save someone if you get to them early enough. Who knew what put this grimy little boy, who couldn’t be much older than young Jemma, in such a situation. He looked at the kid who was looking back at him and shook his head. He’d decided a long time ago that he was in the ‘people saving business’ and although this was a rather small people, he certainly looked like he needed saving.

“Let’s go,” he remarked in a gruff voice as he turned the boy to walk across the street, still holding tightly to his jacket collar.

The boy tripped a few times but caught his balance and moved forward letting out a small gasp when he noticed the approaching bobby. He tried to look back at Phil and mumbled a small plea for release then fell silent resigning himself to his fate.

“Something I can help you with there?” The office asked as he stopped in front of Phil.

Feeling the boy physically surrender and almost sink to the sidewalk, Phil let out a loud breath and shook his head. With practiced ease he slid his hand from the boy’s collar to rest on the back of his neck. “Been looking for him all morning, officer,” he began in his angriest authority voice. “Where were you when I needed you? His mother is beside herself. Practically had to have her sedated, but his kid is so curious we just can’t keep him from exploring on his own.” He shook the boy a bit. 

The officer raised an eyebrow and bent to look at the kid.

“Can you believe how dirty he is in such a short time? I can’t even imagine where he’s been or what he’s been into. Geesh, you should have seen him when we visited the Clydesdale Stables last summer…took months to get the smell off of him.” He grimaced and shook his head. 

The constable pulled himself up to his full height and glared at the pair. Phil could hear the seconds ticking by as he waited for a response. Hopefully the boy would stay quiet, one word and his accent would give it all away. The bobby pushed back his cap and pursed his lips and slowly shook his head. “Looks like you’ve gone and gotten yourself into a lot of trouble, haven’t you?” He tsked at the boy.

Phil tightened his grip bit, giving a parental warning. “Not a word, not one of your smart comebacks, sonny boy. You’re in enough hot water.” The boy hung his head refusing to look at either man fearing one or the other would notice not just his confusion but the tears forming in his eyes. Phil slid his arm around the boy’s body pressing against his chest and pulling him back to lean against his side. “Seriously, officer,” he changed his tone now sounding rather penitent. “He is a good boy, just a bit over active at times. I just want to get him back to his mother. She really is beside herself.”

“I understand perfectly, sir. My wife would be the same should my boy go missing, even for a short time. Best you get him home and cleaned up so his mum can rest easy. But if you ask me you ought to consider a good smack to seat of his trousers.” He gave a curt nod. “Doesn’t do my Jamie a bit of harm and keeps him in line as well. Might help him reconsider his options next time.”

Phil gave weak smile and nodded back. “Ah, yes, well…I’ll…ah…I’ll keep that in mind.” He took the boy’s hand noticing immediately how cold and rough it was. For an awkward moment they simply stood facing each other, the officer glaring at the boy and Phil softly patting the small hand he now held. Phil cleared his throat, “Well, thank you for your concern officer. Come on, kiddo, time to go.” He turned and began a brisk walk away from the large man. The officer watched for a few seconds then turned and went on his way.

The pair kept up a rapid pace for the length of the block, crossing at the corner and continuing for half of another before the boy stopped and pulled on the hand that still had a firm hold on his. “I can’t…can’t,” he almost cried, trying to speak between swallowing deep breaths.

Between Phil’s much longer legs and the swift march down the street the kid was practically running to keep up and avoid being dragged. He looked down at the boy watching his chest rise and fall faster than he thought possible. He pulled the boy into a small park and sat both of them on the nearest bench. The man waited for the child to catch his breath. “I’m sorry,” he smiled. “I guess I’m not used to making a getaway with a partner whose legs are that short.” He pointed to the boy’s feet that were swinging about three inches from the ground.

“What…what…what are you gunna do to me?” The kid asked still breathing heavily.

“Do to you?” Phil repeated slightly confused. The boy sat back and wrapped his arms around himself as he nodded and lowered his gaze. “Why…what would make you think…” Phil stopped himself, trying not to wonder what this little guy could have withstood already, given his appearance. “Are you hungry?” He asked instead. The kid shook his head. “Are you sure, because you kinda look hungry and I’m kinda hungry. I don’t think I had lunch yet and whatever it is they’re selling across the way there,” he pointed toward a small café. “It smells pretty good.”

The boy swallowed and looked to where Phil pointed. He shook his head again but couldn’t mask the low growl of his stomach. Phil smiled as he stood and reached out a hand. “Was that you or me? Cuz, I can’t tell when I’m this hungry.” The boy almost smiled but slid to the end of the bench and took the offered hand. 

Despite the stares and glares of the establishment, Phil and the kid took a seat in the small eatery and ordered lunch. They ate in relative silence since the kid seemed to ignore every question diving into the basket of fresh fried fish and large French fries, or chips as they were called here. Phil wondered for a bit if the kid was going to eat the paper they were wrapped in as well, he also wondered when the kid last ate. Eventually, after a second helping, two servings of trifle and a small cup of tea, the young boy sat back and patted his stomach.

“My name’s Phil.” He held out a hand to the boy.

“Fitz.” The kid shot back as he shook the man’s hand firmly.

“That short for something?”

“No, just Fitz.”

“Just thinking, cuz my name’s really Phillip.” He elaborated, hoping to get the boy to open up a bit more.

“No.” He shook his head and watched out the window.

“Expecting someone?” Phil inquired thinking maybe someone had put him up to the theft. Were there gangs in London? Did they initiate kids this young? He hated dealing with the juvenile arm of the law…even in foreign countries. The kid shook his head but refrained from looking Phil in the eye. Phil nodded and looked outside as well. Nothing there seemed suspicious or threatening. He checked his watch noting that he’d missed the appointment with the realtor and wondered why his phone hadn’t rung. He reached into his jacket pocket to find it empty, he checked the opposite pocket then patted both back pockets of his pants.

Fitz shuffled nervously. “I think I might need to use the lu.” He mumbled into his jacket. 

Phil narrowed his eyes at the boy and pulled his wallet from its pocket. He slid a few dollars out and placed them on the check the waitress had placed on the table. “Yeah,” he remarked rising from his seat. “Let’s go.”

Even if Phil had any intention of letting the boy just walk away, which he did not, now he’d just have to hold on to him. Besides he to get back his phone. Of course he could probably just shake it out of the kid, but that certainly wouldn’t build much trust and trust was an important part of this whole dance. He wasn’t sure when he had made the decision to help this kid, but it had been made and he planned on seeing it through – where ever that took them.

So an hour later Fitz accompanied him on his last realtor appointment of the day, to Phil’s delight it was just the place he had for which he had been searching the city. Everything about it was right. He’d call Mack in DC and have him take the next flight. With any luck they could open their new office before it was time for him and Melinda to return. He reached for his phone and remembered.

Fitz stood obediently in the small space the pristine realtor had assigned him with a strict ‘don’t touch anything.’ He scanned the empty space wondering just what she thought he might touch anyway and wondered just what this strange Yank had planned for him. He’d heard stories about men that stole away boys who were never seen again. He squeezed his eyes closed at the pictures in his head put there by his alcoholic uncle who used threats such as that to keep him in line and willing to do as he said, no matter what it took. It was getting late and if he wasn’t back with some kind of booty by nightfall he’d certainly pay dearly. He tried several times to slip away but this gent was very good at what he did. He felt the phone vibrate in his pocket for the hundredth time since he slipped it out of Phil’s.

Phil looked happy now, shaking that stuffy woman’s hand and nodding with that silly grin on his face. The lady looked happy too pulling Phil to a lone table and tugging files from her oversized satchel. He watched as Phil patted his jacket pockets and then his pants knowing the man was searching again for his phone and yet he hadn’t said one word about it being missing. They spoke a little longer then she passed a file to Phil and made a note in her book, passed him a card and walked toward the exit.

“So what do you think?” Phil smiled as he walked toward the boy extending his arms to encompass the large space. Fitz shrugged. “I just bought it.” The man continued. “Isn’t it great?”

Fitz started to take a step then looked to Phil for permission, at his nod the boy strolled across the room. “I guess it’s…it’s a big space.” He answered honestly.

“It is.” Phil agreed. “And it’s in the best location, has the best price, the best…” Noticing the confused look on the kid’s face he smiled and stopped. “It just is the best and believe me I have seen the worst, so…”

“Can I go now?” The boy asked shoving his hands in his pockets.

Phil crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “You got someplace to be?” He asked with eyebrows raised.

“I have to get home.” The kid mumbled.

“Ah, yes home,” Phil stood up and took a step toward the boy. “I think I’d like to meet your parents, have a little talk with them maybe. Think they’d be up for that?” He stopped in front of Fitz.

The boy looked up at him for moment and shook his head.

“Not the talkative kind?”

He shook his head again.

“Well, why don’t you just tell me where you live and I’ll take care of the talking part.” He put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and guided him toward the door.

Fitz stopped, pulled the phone from his pocket and shoved it toward Phil. “I’m sorry…I took it…here take it…” His hand was shaking, his voice cracking as he fought to contain the tears. “You got your wallet and now your phone…so…so we’re even…you don’t have to talk to anybody…” 

Phil took the phone, grabbing the boy’s wrist along with it. 

“Just let me go…please…he’ll be mad…I got to go now before it’s too late…please.” He struggled against Phil’s grip finally giving into the sobs that escaped between his words.

Phil sunk to his knees and held the boy’s trembling shoulders. “Fitz, what are you so afraid of, buddy. Is someone hurting you, making you do this?” He nodded toward the phone he had dropped on the floor between them.

“NO!” The boy protested pulling back and wiping at his eyes with his dirty sleeves. The tears left darker streaks on his already dirty face. “I just gotta go. He…he won’t understand. He won’t…”

Phil tried to pull the boy into a hug, to comfort him but Fitz pushed the palms of his hands against the man’s chest. “NO!” He screamed again, this time refusing the contact not the fact he was being kept in Phil’s grip.

“Okay, okay…it’s okay, Fitz.” He rubbed his hands up and down the boy’s arms. “I guess you’ll be coming with me until we straighten out this mess. Don’t worry, buddy, no one’s going to hurt you.”

Fitz was a fighter, no doubt about that. He’d put up a battle trying to leap from Phil’s car at almost every stop. Luckily the woman at the rental place had demonstrated how the child safety locks worked and had inadvertently left them engaged. Fitz was seat belted for a while but managed to get himself free pulling at the doors and windows in an effort to get out. The day took its toll along with his frenetic escape attempts and the eventually the boy fell asleep on the floor of the back seat. 

That’s where Phil found him when he pulled into the driveway in Sheffield well after dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews help me write more....


	4. And Then There Were Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil brings home another needy case and Jemma faces her grief

“Let me get this straight,” Melinda sneered. “You found a grubby, not to mention a pretty smelly, little kid roaming around the streets of London and thought it would be a good idea to bring him home with you?!” Her voice grew shriller as she continued. She looked at the dirty jacket in her right hand. It had taken both of them to tug it off the sleeping child. Together they’d stripped him down to his underclothes which were (hard to imagine) dirtier than the outers. She dropped the jacket into the plastic bag Phil was holding. All of the boy’s clothes were inside and headed straight for the trash bin. Washing them would be pointless, they’d probably disintegrate in the machine or the machine would simply regurgitate them in protest. 

Phil gave her a sheepish grin. “I couldn’t just leave him there, Mel.” His voice was softer, calmer than hers. “You should’ve seen the little guy…”

She cut him off. “Phil, I’ve already got a little girl who cannot deal with her parents’ death and won’t let me get anywhere near her, we’ve got less than a month before we have to get back to our lives in the US, we have to settle this estate and store everything Jemma wants – if we can get her to so much as talk to us and…and you’re off starting a branch office in a new country!” She continued following him to the back yard garbage bin.

He tossed the small bag in the bin and set the top back on, turned and pulled her close, stopping her with a soft kiss. “I know,” he whispered resting his forehead against hers. “I couldn’t just leave him, Mel. Something is wrong with the whole situation. He was terrified. No kid should be that afraid of his own parents.”

She let out a long breath and closed her eyes. “They have agencies for that Phil, even in England. They have some kind of Children and Youth agency to deal with it. You could have taken him to the police or a church or…something.”

If he didn’t know Melinda May as well as he did he would almost think she was whining. “He kissed her again, took a breath and then kissed her again deeper, longer.

She pulled slowly away, sighing and then laughed a small laugh. “That’s not going to work you know. I’m not that easy.”

“No?” He smiled and wrapped his arms around the small of her back pulling him closer. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around his neck and initiated a kiss of her own causing him to moan just a little and pull her even closer.

“No.” She teased as she slid out of his hold and walked back toward the kitchen. He watched then hurried to catch up.

“Maybe we can discuss this more…in the morning…” He hoped.

 

The shrill claxon of a screaming duet brought Phil and Melinda back to consciousness. Both jumped from their slumber, untangling themselves from each other as well as their sheets and grabbing clothing as they stumbled toward the door.

Both raced down the hall following the sounds of not one but two high pitched shrieks. They stopped at the door to the main bath. Jemma stood outside the door in her dressing gown; fists clenched at her sides, eyes pinched closed screaming at the top of her lungs. Inside the bath, Fitz stood holding a towel in front of himself and screeching just as loudly. Phil slipped past the girl into the bath pulling the door closed behind him. Melinda took Jemma’s hand, spun her around and headed back toward the girl’s bedroom. It didn’t stop the screaming, but it separated the screamers.  
Melinda pushed Jemma inside the room and pulled the door closed. The girl continued screaming. Mel placed her hands on her shoulders and shook her gently in an attempt to gain her attention. “Jemma,” she called softly, but received no response. “JEMMA!” She called louder, firmer and shook her hard enough to cause the girl’s head to bob gently.

Jemma blinked rapidly and took a giant gulp of air. Melinda prepared for the shriek to come but the girl looked at her with wide eyes. “There’s…a…boy…a NAKED boy…in our bath!” She exclaimed between gulps of air.

Before Melinda could respond the girl continued speaking rapidly and pacing to and from her closed bedroom door. “Where did he come from?” She stopped and pointed toward the hallway. “How did he get in here?” She spread her palms in front of her. “Why is he here? Who let him in? Where are his clothes? Why is he so filthy? Where did he come from?” She barely took a breath between her inquiries becoming almost frantic in demanding answers. “Why is there a naked boy in the bath? Why?” She finally broke down falling to her knees on the carpet and dissolving into tears.

Melinda stood trancelike watching as the child ranted and then broke down, shocked at the number of words the girl spoke in such a short amount of time. Confused as to why she would be so hysterical over this. The boy certainly was not naked, albeit his undergarments and body were so grungy, so dirt encrusted she could understand how Jemma could be mistaken. But the kid was holding a towel in front of himself, just his head visible over it. What exactly had the girl seen?

Going to her knees next to the girl, Melinda tentatively reached out and put a hand on Jemma’s back. The girl jumped and scooted away from the touch and the woman withdrew her hand feeling a sharp twinge of pain at the rejection. 

Jemma sat with her hands resting on the floor in front of her. She stared at the pattern of the rug and slowly began running her hand softly over it, watching how the knap of the material changed from light to dark as she did. She drew a shaky breath and let out a deep sob. “Why?” She whispered as tears fell freely. “Why?” She asked again slowly turning toward Melinda and looking into her eyes for the first time since they were thrown together in this tragedy. She tried unsuccessfully to rein in her emotions, to pull back the tears and the sobs but only cried harder, shaking with the force of her feelings.

Melinda sat on the floor unsure of what to do or say next. She couldn’t even be sure if the girl was listening to her, would hear any kind of explanation. What she really wanted to do was smack Phil for bringing home that little monster who threw the already unstable girl into this fit of hysteria. 

Jemma sank down onto the carpet still sobbing heavily and repeating, “Why?” so quietly that Melinda was not even sure if it were a word or just the sobbing. She rested her cheek against the soft pile of the rug while continuing to rub her hand across it, almost as if caressing it.

“Honey,” Melinda started, moving a little closer to the child then waiting to see her reaction. “Phil brought him here. He…he needs…he wants…to help him…”

Jemma picked up her head and realized Melinda had moved closer. “Why?” She blinked large tears. “Why?” 

Melinda shook her head. She was without an answer suddenly realizing the child was not questioning the boy, but the tragic fate that had befallen her. She slowly moved even closer to the girl whose sobs had taken her ability to speak. The woman gently placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder immediately shocked by the speed in which the child climbed into her embrace.

“Shhhh, shhhh,” Melinda comforted wrapping her arms around the girl as her own tears began to fall. 

“Why?” The little voice forced out from beneath the woman’s arms as she attempted to push herself even further into the embrace.

 

In the main bath Phil was dealing with hysterics of his own.

“What in bloody hell was that?!” the boy, exclaimed breathing heavily and backing away from the man who had closed off his only means of escape. He pulled the towel closer, holding it to his chest.

Phil grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Women,” he sighed, “lots of emotion.” He looked back toward the door. “Mel will deal with it. I’m sure she’ll get it under control.”

“What was she bloody screaming about, then? She came in, right in, didn’t even knock, bloody, sweet, Jee…”

“Okay,” Phil stopped him. “I think we might want to just tone down the language, sport.”

Fitz snapped his mouth shut and nodded, looking wide-eyed at Phil who pursed his lips and shoved his hands in his pockets. For a moment they shared an uncomfortable silence. Phil noticed how the boy watched his every move, blinking rapidly, his breathing quick and staggered. 

Phil pulled his hands from his pockets and clapped them together causing the kid to jump. He cringed a bit and rubbed his hands together. “Hmmm, well…we seem to be exactly where we need to be.”

Fitz swallowed hard hugging the towel tighter. He’d backed himself into a small space between the tub and what seemed to be a tall linen cupboard. Phil moved closer but the boy was now trapped. He squeezed his eyes closed.

Phil reached across the basin and turned on the water. The faucet splurged the water across the porcelain creating a hollow sound. Fitz opened his eyes and blinked at the sight.

“Ya know, I think you might feel better if you got in and soaked for a bit.” Phil suggested pointing to the tub. Fitz shook his head and pulled the towel over his shoulders covering all but his head. The man raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry but I think I’m gonna have to insist, buddy.” He shook his head and gave a small laugh. “In all honesty, Fitz, you really don’t smell too good. Getting clean will go a long way in reducing all the screaming.”

The boy turned up one side of his mouth and moved only his eyes toward the tub as Phil reached over and turned off the spigot. He dropped a bar of white soap and a wash cloth into the water. 

“I don’t want to smell like a girl.” The boy protested.

Phil reached into the shallow water and snatched the soap. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. “Nope, just plain old get ya clean soap.” He held it out for the boy to smell. 

Fitz leaned forward a fraction of an inch and sniffed without taking his eyes off the man who held him captive. Phil’s eyes widened in an unspoken question and the boy gave an almost nonexistent nod. He dropped the soap back into the tub with a plop.

“Where are my clothes?” The boy demanded through the towel. “I was looking and didn’t find them.”

Phil sat on the edge of the tub. He rested his elbows on his knees and wove his fingers together in front of him. “I’m afraid we couldn’t save them, kiddo.”

For a moment the boy was silent and although seemingly deep in thought Phil wondered if he would burst into tears. “So if I get into your tub, what happens when I get out? I’ve got no clothes. I get into your basin and you go off with my vest and pants as well?” 

Phil squinted and thought for a bit trying to understand the meaning in the boy’s statement. He was still a bit stymied by the vernacular of the Brits and from the vaguely different accent the boy had, it seemed he might be more of a Scot. It dawned on him that the kid was referring to his underclothes, only because it was the only article of clothing the boy still had.

“Well, they are in pretty bad shape, bud, but I promise we’ll get you some new clothes, skivvies and all.” He smiled and held out a hand to the kid.

It was Fitz’ turn to furrow his eyebrows in confusion, this Yank sometimes made absolutely no sense at all. But the bath looked good and he hadn’t been clean in longer than he could remember. Did he really smell bad? He pulled the towel up to his eyes and took a few quick sniffs. Didn’t seem bad to him, but he knew his knickers used to be white and they hadn’t been for a while now. There was a shilling sized hole in the back where his bum showed and he suddenly felt his face grow warm imagining anyone had seen. The boy was so deep in thought he didn’t notice Phil had reached over and gently pulled at the towel, before the boy could regain his grip the man had taken it. He immediately wrapped his arms around his middle.

“I won’t hurt you, Fitz. I promise.” Phil spoke quietly, waiting for the boy to relax. “I just want to help.”

The boy swiped away a quick tear and ran the back of his hand under his nose, both actions smearing the already grimy mess on his face. Phil had noticed the telltale tracks of tears earlier. 

“Tell you what,” he started. “I’ll turn around. You undress and climb in, we’ll take it from there.” He raised his eyebrows asking permission. The boy didn’t react but Phil turned anyway, hoping the kid would follow through. A few seconds later he heard the water gently sloshing and knew Fitz had gotten into the tub. He turned back. “See, that wasn’t so…” he stopped staring at the youngster who was seated in the waist deep water staring up at him and still wearing his grungy undergarments.

“Well, it’s a start.” Phil smiled to himself as he rolled up his sleeves.

 

Phil stepped out of the washroom carrying the soggy garments that had once been a small boy’s underwear. He’d managed to get them away from the kid telling him that even if they were worth saving they’d be too wet to wear. Fitz stared for a bit, turning the thought over in his mind. Anyway the water in the tub was now so murky no one could see anything. He’d squirmed out of the wet garments and deposited them on the floor. Phil nodded his approval then rocked the boy’s world when he suggested they drain the mud colored water and refill the tub. The man held out a towel and turned his back, waited for the boy to stand and wrap himself in it then pulled the plug and let the water drain. 

Once the tub was refilled with clean hot water and a mound of suds Fitz relinquished the towel and settled back into it. He assured Phil he was willing and capable of washing and rinsing his own hair before the man agreed to give him his privacy and go in search of suitable clothing for the boy. Now he stood in the hallway staring at the grimy garments in his hand. Getting the kid into the tub was a great idea, getting rid of all of his smelly wear worn clothing even greater. Of course neither he nor Melinda had thought ahead to what the kid was going to wear now. He certainly wasn’t going to fit into anything Phil had to offer. Even a T-shirt would act as a dressing gown on the kid. Phil shook his head.

“You are planning to clean that puddle, I hope.” Melinda’s voice brought him from his thoughts.

“Geesh,” he stepped back holding the dripping mess in front of him as he moved across the hall and into their room dropping it into the small waste basket there. He wiped his hands across his jeans and smiled sheepishly at his wife. “How’s Jemma?” He asked, truly concerned.

“Better,” Melinda replied. “I think that is the first time she’s shown any kind of reaction since the accident. Maybe it’s a good thing.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed remembering the flood of emotion he had displayed when finally coming to terms with his father’s passing.

Phil brushed his hand together and sighed. “We have a little problem,” he started, half smiling at Melinda.

“Great,” she dead panned. “I thought it would be another boring day.”

He laughed through his nose. “Seriously. I got Fitz to give up those grungy clothes.” He nodded toward the waste basket. “But, I’ve got nothing for the kid to wear and I’m pretty sure Jemma’s clothes won’t be much help.” He shook his head. “I promised the kid…”

“I think you’re right.” Melinda nodded and took a deep breath. “We have a problem.”

 

Problems were meant to be solved and obstacles to be eliminated. In their business this was almost mantra so Phil and Melinda plowed through what needed to be done. Despite his protest Fitz donned Jemma’s dark blue gym sweats and a pair of pink flip-flops in order to accompany Phil to the local shops in order to purchase more appropriate clothing. They also visited a barber who turned the boy’s mop of curly knots into a well groomed head of short soft curls. 

Melinda glared at the number of bags and boxes Phil carried into the house upon their return. He merely shrugged as he slipped past her. It appeared their odd family had grown by one.

 

The next few weeks were a frenzy of investigating Fitz’s background which was greatly helped by the arrival of the head of Phil’s DC office, Alphonso Mackenzie or Mack for short. The quiet, suspicious young boy was slow to give any information to anyone and twice Phil and Mack spent most of the day and night searching for the kid who someone managed to slip away. They explained to the boy he was hours away from London and had no means to get there, even after finding him lifting wallets at the nearby bus station. Both men spent the ride back explaining to the boy how dangerous his actions were but it was Melinda’s threat of lighting up his backside with the flat of her hairbrush that finally hit home. He stared at her wide-eyed and merely nodded when she asked if he understood then rapidly shook his head when she asked if he need a demonstration to help him remember. The whole incident managed to earn a small smile from Jemma who stood in the doorway watching.

A few days later brought a major change. Phil and Mack had traced the full name the boy finally gave up, Leopold Fitz, to Glasgow and had set off to gather more information. If Fitz was to become a true member of this odd little family there was a lot to investigate and mountains of paperwork to climb. 

Although Jemma and Fitz had not spoken a word to each other since the bathroom incident they did seem to tolerate each other, or just simply ignored each other. They simply avoided each other in the hallway, at the dinner table, in the parlor, and any outing for supplies or materials. The made it a point to use separate bathrooms and never, at least not for any amount of time made eye contact. Although it seemed odd, Melinda saw it as an improvement. Jemma who up until now withdrew from everything refusing to talk or interact was actively avoiding Fitz. That was something, wasn’t it? 

On this afternoon both children were together (actively ignoring each other) in the garden behind the small house. Jemma sat on a wooden swing, head resting against her hands as they gripped one of the ropes that suspended it from the large Ash tree. The huge arbor was probably older than the house itself. Her feet swung a few inches from the ground as she stared at nothing. 

Fitz stood a few feet behind her with his hands shoved into his pockets. He watched her barely swinging as he scraped the toe of his new shoes in the gravel of the walkway then kicked at the small rocks sending them tumbling in every direction. He watched as they rolled away, looked toward the girl on the swing then kicked again a bit harder. Again he looked at the girl who showed no reaction and did nothing to hide the wide grin that crossed his face. He squatted down and flipped through the gravel searching for just the right one. He smiled again as he picked up a grey flecked stone and tossed it back and forth between his hands, then up into the air and caught it. He looked at the girl a third time before throwing the rock at a wooden shack at the end of the path. The stone fell short of its mark bouncing a few times on the grass before coming to a stop. 

Jemma fidgeted a bit on her swing and pushed against the ground with one toe to make it move just a smidge. Fitz wrinkled his nose and shook his head then picked up a second rock and threw it harder smiling as it bounced off the side of the ramshackle shed. Jemma looked up at the sound and sighed then shook her head when yet another stone ricocheted from the work table in front to the shed and back.

“Yes!” Fitz whispered congratulations to himself.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Jemma commented without emotion and without changing position on her swing. Her voice dry and just above a whisper in the quiet garden, it was barely audible.

The boy stopped. His mouth dropped open for a moment as he stared at the girl, offended by what she said not by the fact she had actually spoken. “I’m not,” he shot back indignantly. “I’m sure I know how to throw a bloody stone!”

Jemma shook her head causing the swing to wobble rather than move to and fro. “You are absolutely doing it wrong.” She watched her shoes as they dug small furrows in the dirt beneath the well-used swing.

Fitz snatched another small stone and shot it toward the shed. It sped to the right completely missing the small building.

“Absolutely incorrect,” Jemma repeated sitting straight and grabbing the opposite rope with her hand. She pushed off with both feet, staring at the small shed a few feet away.

Fitz balled both hands into fists straightening his arms at his sides. “How would you know? You just sit around all day doing nothing, not even talking for damn sake. How would you know anything?”

“I know a lot of things and you shouldn’t say damn…” Jemma retorted slowly swinging but not making eye contact with the boy.

Fitz scrunched up his face and mouthed what she had just said mocking her silently. He watched her swing for a few minutes waiting for her to continue. The silence grew until he could stand it no more. “So are you going to tell me how to do it correctly, then? Or are you just going to sit there pretending to swing like a bloody boob.”

Jemma stopped her swing and looked at the boy for the first time. She pursed her lips and let out a soft sigh. “You aren’t even hitting anything.” She shook her head, stood and started toward him, stooping to pick up a few pebbles on her way.

“Hitting anything! Hitting anything? Ya bloody, blind bird…I hit the damn barn at least three times.” He yelled, his voice rising to a squeak.

She tilted her head to one side, smiled and spoke softly. “Well it isn’t hard to miss then, is it?” The girl then pulled back and wired the rock she had picked up toward the small structure. It hit a small ceramic flower pot shattering it in all directions. “And don’t say damn, it is quite unacceptable.”

“Are ya mental, girl?” Fitz exclaimed stepping in front of her and looking warily back toward the kitchen window. The girl shook her head and stooped down grabbing a handful of the speckled stones. She opened her hand and stared at them as if she’d never seen rocks in her life.

“What’s the shed for then?” Fitz interrupted her thoughts.

“My mum,” she swallowed hard. “My mum likes to relax there with her gardening. She…she…” Jemma pushed around him and shot a second stone breaking one of the small windows in the shed, then threw a third and a fourth in quick succession shattering another small pot and a second small window. 

Fitz grabbed her wrist before she could throw another. “Are you daft girl? You’re mum’s right there in the house. She’ll hear and come out like a mad wifie!”

Jemma’s eyes changed, glazing over with unbridled anger. She pulled roughly away, pushing the boy as she did. “She’s…not…my…mother!” She growled through clenched teeth flinging a stone with each word. Every one met its mark smashing pots and glass it they hit.

Fitz stepped back suddenly wary of the girl as she flung a handful of the small stones at the building then rushed past him running toward it. He reeled but caught his balance before tumbling and watched as she grabbed a long stick from the ground and began swiping at the tools and pots on the small worktable and sending them crashing to the ground. He watched for a few seconds listening to her rant and scream as she smashed and kicked at everything she could before pushing open the wooden door and entering the shed. He could now only hear the chaos that went on inside. He turned and ran for the kitchen sure that the girl had totally lost her mind.

The boy skidded through the back door expecting to see the dark haired woman that was Phil’s wife seated at the table with her paperwork but the room was empty. He ran into the parlor, no one there. “Help!” He screamed as loud as he could. “May! She’s gone out of her head! May!” He was pretty sure that was the name he had heard that large black man call the woman. He started up the stairs continuing his bellowing only to crash head-first into Melinda on her way down. She was running as well. She grabbed his shoulders to keep him from falling then stepped down few steps past him so that they stood eye to eye.

“What? What happened?” She quelled the panic she felt.

“She just went all mental. She’s out there,” he pointed toward the kitchen. “She said I was doing it wrong…but she’s just out of her head.” They both jumped at the sound of a loud crash. “See…see…she’s bonkers.” He raised his hands to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut and pulled himself into a ball on the steps as Melinda turned and ran toward the sound.

The distraught woman stepped into the dimness of the now quiet shed surveying the debris that lay everywhere. The air glistened with specks of dust and the airborne pollen of small plants that had drifted in the stillness. Broken pots and slivers of aged wooden were strewn across the floor where Jemma sat holding her hand in front of her. Blood ran from a deep gash across her palm, dark splinters of wood laced her hands and arms. She sobbed heavily, mumbling softly.

“Jemma?” Melinda spoke softly, stepping gingerly over the crackling pieces of broken pottery littered across the floor. She fully expected the girl to ignore her.

“She’s not coming back.” It was a small, soft statement followed by a deep breath through her nose. Melinda swallowed hard and braced herself for the flood that was inevitable but was unprepared for the screech that followed. “They’re not coming back!” Jemma turned toward the woman as her voice rose.

Melinda moved toward her but she scooted away across the dirt and shards that lay on the floor. She stopped, fearing the child would further injure herself on the debris. “Jemma,” she spoke softly barely above a whisper and held her hands out and down in front of her. “Jemma, you’re hurt. Come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up and check out that hand.” She tried a small smile. “You wouldn’t want it to get infected. I know you know all about that kind of thing.” Melinda internally rolled her eyes at the stupidity of her statement. The girl was overwhelmed with the reality of her parents’ deaths; she wasn’t a bit concerned with much else.

“They’re never coming back because they had to go on that stupid plane to that stupid meeting and…” Jemma squeezed her injured hand until the blood ran down her arm as she turned toward Melinda screaming at her. “Mum’s never going to use this garden shed again and all these plants are going to just…just…just die…just die like she did.” She kicked a miraculously still intact pot from the debris sending it tumbling across floor. It bounced over a shard of wood and crashed against a large chest. “They just left me! They aren’t coming back. I hate them! I hate them forever!” The girl screamed rapidly and stomped her foot over and over.

Melinda put out her hands and spoke softly. “I know it hurts, Jemma, I know.”

“YOU DON’T,” the girl screamed as tears streaked across her cheeks. She turned away from Melinda and squeezed her eyes shut and holding her breath as she tilted her head back then let out a desperate sob. Melinda took a step crunching glass beneath her foot. “NO!” The girl screamed spinning back toward her and holding out a hand. “NO, DON’T TOUCH ME!” She took a breath, swallowed and made a vain effort to control her voice, “you_don’t_know, nobody knows, nobody…” Her voice broke through sobs. She swallowed again and hiccoughed trying to regain her stoic behavior, but it was lost, the bare emotion had broken through and it would not be tamed. 

Melinda stood watching the child as she drew shaky breaths and shook with the sobs she could not control. Part of her wanted to rush forward and gather the grief stricken little girl into a comforting embrace, the other part knew that nothing could ease her pain. So she stood less than a foot away waiting for Jemma to make the first move. 

As her sobs turned into soft weeping her voice quieted to a whisper and she tried to speak. “They’re gone. I’m alone…” The girl looked to Melinda truly seeing her for the first time since she’d arrived and took a slow step toward the woman. “I don’t know what to do, Aunt Mel. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The girl slumped toward the floor caught by Melinda’s strong arms and finally releasing all of her anguish.

She pulled the little girl close and let her cry. There were no words to take away her pain and telling her everything would be fine seemed cruel. It wouldn’t be fine. It would never be fine again, but it would get better and this was the start of getting better. Melinda patted the girl’s back and kissed the top of her head as she scooped her up and carried her from the shed to the car. They’d need to see a doctor for that deep gash. She motioned for Fitz, who had left his perch on the stairs to watch from the kitchen door, to follow.

Two hours later Jemma was asleep on the parlor settee. It took six sutures to close the wound in her hand and the pain medicine had helped her to sleep as well. She’d cried through the entire thing, resisting the doctor’s efforts to numb the area and treat it. Melinda finally took the girl into her lap and held her until the doctor had finished, quietly reassuring her that although it would hurt it would, in fact, get better when he was done. Fitz sat across the room with his eyes squeezed shut, fingers jammed into his ears and quietly singing to himself.

Now in the early evening quiet of the small house the boy stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen and the parlor. He leaned against the doorframe watching Jemma sleep. “Do you suppose she will be alright now?” He turned back toward the kitchen where Melinda was pouring tea into two cups. It was the most the boy had said to her except for the outburst this afternoon. She didn’t react, simply poured the tea and set the pot on the trivet.

“I think it’s a start.” She nodded toward the cup to her left wordlessly telling the boy to come join her.

“I did not know you weren’t her mum.” He frowned as he lifted himself into the large wooden chair. “I’m sorry for the trouble, ma’am.” Fitz folded his hands in his lap and looked at his own reflection wriggling in the tea.

For a moment Melinda simply stared at the little boy. Why was he apologizing? Gawd, she knew nothing about children, how did she get herself into this and how were they going to get through it. She hadn’t even called Phil yet. He knew nothing of the day’s catastrophes. He knew how to talk to this little boy, how to quell his fears and ease his worries. She could tell by the way Fitz looked at her that she terrified him. The threat with the hairbrush had done nothing to lessen that fear. She wasn’t even sure she would have ever carried through with it, she was just so frustrated at the time and when it worked…well she went with it. Now she watched as he swung his feet and refused to meet her gaze. Suddenly a thought overcame her. This kid probably thought she blamed him for what happened and that she would…

“Fitz,” she began reaching out a hand and touching his arm. The boy flinched as if bracing himself for what would come but did not pull away. Her immediate reaction was to pull her hand back but instead she gently rubbed his arm and spoke softly. “Fitz, you didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you helped.” She felt him relax slowly and pulled her hand back. After a few moments he peeked up at her and bit his lower lip.

“I…I helped?” He didn’t seem to believe her.

“You helped Jemma.” Melinda nodded before taking a sip of her tea. 

“I didn’t know about her ma and da.” He let out a deep breath. “I didn’t know they were…” He let his chin fall to his chest and left the statement unfinished.

“I’m sorry, Fitz. We should have told you. It’s been hard for all of us.” Melinda tried to explain. 

“But how did I help?” The boy asked again as if needed to be reassured.

Melinda searched for the right words, how to explain to a little kid the twisted psychology of grief. “Jemma needed to be angry, Fitz. She needed to cry and be upset about losing her parents. She was…she was stuck and couldn’t get there. You just pushed her in the right direction.” She almost smiled at her explanation. 

Fitz looked toward the doorway and then back at Melinda, meeting her eyes. “Pushed her a bit too far perhaps…she’s hurt because of me.” He blinked back tears and quickly swiped his sleeve across his eyes.

“No, Fitz,” Melinda moved a bit too fast and the boy jumped back against his chair. She took a breath and started again. “No, Fitz, that was an accident. You couldn’t have known what would happen and Jemma was so upset she didn’t even realize she’d hurt herself. But, she will get better.”

He looked at her for a moment and scrunched up his face. “Really?”

Melinda raised an eyebrow and looked sidelong at the boy. “You know I don’t kid now don’t you, Fitz.”  
His mouth dropped open a bit and he nodded slowly.

“You should drink your tea while it’s still hot.” She nodded toward his cup as she lifted hers to her lips. The boy picked up his cup and took a sip. “Tell me about your parents, Fitz. Maybe you need some help as well.”

Fitz looked at the women over the edge of his cup and tried to block out the sound of his heart slamming against his chest. He’d never told anyone. He never thought anyone could help but these people seemed different. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

“My ma is sick. I couldn’t take care of her. I wanted to…but it got too hard and we didn’t have much…” He took another sip of tea. Melinda listened.


	5. It's Dark and Deep and It Takes a Lot of Digging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil, Melinda and friends attempt to find the truth about Fitz

A nervous young clerk at the Health and Social Care Partnership in Glasgow, intimidated by the hulking form of Alphonso and the continuous questioning of Phil broke into a sweat and had a difficult time controlling his trembling hands as he shifted through mounds of paper searching for any information on the child they’d described. The lack of said information confused the young man and frustrated Phil and Mack.

“Maybe we should see someone with more experience.” Mack suggested.

The young man shook his head and pulled open yet another filing cabinet drawer flipping through over-stuffed files. “I just don’t understand, there’s nothing at all here on the boy. Are you sure you’ve got the correct name and all?” He shook his head again, let out a deep sigh and pushed the dark-rimmed glasses up on his nose. “Perhaps he’s not even in the system?”

Phil wasn’t sure if it were a statement or a question but looked and Mack and shrugged. Maybe the kid wasn’t in the system. Maybe he was a runaway. Maybe no one even missed him. Maybe they were dealing with the wrong agency. “Okay,” he began calmly, “let’s start again. Who would we need to see about a missing child?”

After letting out a sigh of relief the young man directed them to the local constabulary and watched with a large smile as they finally left his small office. Phil and Mack walked the short distance to the police station in silence, forty-five minutes later they were no closer to an answer than they had been when they arrived in the city that morning. 

No one was looking for a skinny, curly-haired, blue-eyed boy. No one had reported him missing. No one hade reported finding him and none of the pictures of missing children in the police files looked anything like Fitz. 

“Well, unless he just dropped out of the sky, the kid had to come from somewhere.” Phil shook his head as he walked down the steps of the police station. 

Mack shook his head as well. “You sure you want to take this on? It’s not our normal line of work and you already have the girl and…”

Phil stopped and turned to face the larger man. He raised an eyebrow and merely stared.

“Right,” Mack nodded.

Phil’s reply was cut off by the ringing of his phone. He pulled it from his jacket pocket and turned from his companion.

“Mel…everything okay?” It was unusual for her to call, unless it was urgent. Her hesitation in answering spoke volumes. “Melinda?”

“It’s been a day.” She breathed. “Jemma had a break through, but not without damage. I don’t think there is much hope for that gardener’s shed and she’s got quite a gash on her right hand.”

“What…”

“She’s okay, Phil. Both are sound asleep. We’ll talk about it when you get back, but I have info you might need to help you there.”

He glanced at his watch, not realizing it had gotten so late and noticed that the sun had already set. Mack had walked ahead and was waiting at the rented SUV. He leaned back on the car with his arms across his chest giving his bosses their privacy. The large, quiet man kept his opinions to himself for the most part and had yet to tell Phil what he thought of this whole business. That thought was that he and Melinda were out of their minds taking on that little girl and now even considering the possibility of this mystery kid as well. What the hell were they thinking? They weren’t young and they had absolutely zero experience dealing with children. Sure most new parents didn’t have experience but at least they earned it with the kid. And these kids came with so much baggage he couldn’t imagine Melinda May having the patience, the desire or the compassion to handle any of it. Phil probably did, but he had enough to handle with his business and now opening an international office? What were they thinking? He let out a deep sigh and shook his head.

“Fitz opened up as well.” Melinda stated matter-of-factly. “I think what he told me can help you, but I also think he needs to be there with you. I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for without him.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t know what has him so spooked but if it’s here it will be better if he stays with you.” Phil countered.

“I had no intention of sending him alone.” Phil could hear her scowl. “And you won’t find what you’re looking for in Glasgow. You’ll do better in Busby, about six miles south of center city. We can meet you there tomorrow noon.”

“We?”

“Fitz and I,” she continued. “I’ve booked a flight and rented a car. I’m sure Fitz can get me to the right place and I’ve got an address for you. We’ll meet you there.”

“Mel, what about Jemma?” Phil’s voice was soft. He was determined to find out as much as possible about Fitz but his concern for the little girl that had brought them together was immeasurable. 

For a long pause, Melinda was quiet. “We need help, Phil. I don’t think we can do this alone.”

Phil walked briskly past Mack without a word, pulled open the SUV’s door and fell inside. He pulled the door closed with a slam. Mack bent low and peered through the window at him drumming his fingers on the top of the steering wheel before opening the door and getting inside. 

“Now what?” He asked trying to keep the frustration out of his voice or to set off his boss.

Phil turned the key and started the car. “We’re not going to find anything here. We need to regroup. We can be back in Sheffield in about six hours. Contact Bobbi. She’s on the job in Paris. It won’t take her long to get here.” He didn’t wait for a reply, pulled away from the curb and headed toward the motorway.

 

By 6 a.m. Mack was snoring in the master bedroom of the Simmons’ Sheffield house while Phil was nursing a second cup of coffee in the small kitchen. Melinda sat across the table tracing her finger over the handle on the Dresden tea cup that held a now luke warm tea. She’d told him about Jemma and the shed and the hysteria and the doctor visit. He apologized for not being there to help, to support her in this trial by fire.

“He’s not sure what happened to his mother.” Melinda sighed after filling her husband in on the information Fitz had shared with her the day before. The kid had been through more than someone his age should have. His mother was sick and from what he had told her she gathered that it was more of a dependency or addiction than a physical illness, but he was nine and his explanation was sketchy. He said she’d be happy for a while and they’d have fun. There were trips to the cinema and picnics on the banks of the river. She’d treat him to pastries and sweets and they’d listen to music while dancing in their small flat. Then she’d be just as sad and wouldn’t speak to him for days. There was no food in the house, she would keep the shades drawn and the rooms were dark. On those days he would stay away from her or stay completely silent since even the slightest sound would earn him a backhand across the face. It would last a week or so and then she’d be happy again. Melinda factored in serious depression. 

Fitz told her he tried to take care of her, to make sure there was food and that the rent was paid. He had to steal it from her purse or from the jar where she kept extra cash. She’d be frantic when she’d find the money missing, wringing her hands and mumbling to herself about how someone was after them. 

She would go out and not come back, he said. At first it was over night but then it was a whole day and then a few days. There were times when he didn’t think she’d come back at all. Then the money was gone. Her purse was empty except for her smokes and the jar that was set back in the cabinet above the stove had disappeared. He stretched the food as far as it would go, but the landlord wanted the rent and not the excuses of a small boy. A few days later he sat on the curb with the few items he could carry and waited for his mother to return. 

For a while they lived in the park. She told him it would be like a holiday and they would be camping, but it was cold and wet and she coughed so much she could barely speak. The happy days got less and less and the sad days stretched on and on. The boy’s cheeks had turned scarlet when he told her that he started pinching people’s wallets or purses just to have money to eat. He promised he never took more than he needed and always made sure to leave the bag or billfold at a police station.

They ended up staying in a room over a noisy pub, courtesy of one of her ‘friends’. The man was big and loud and he suspected the bruises on his mother’s face and arms came from him, but he never saw him do anything. His mother coughed a lot. She caught a heavy cold when they lived in the park and she couldn’t get well, he’d told Melinda although she suspected he didn’t really believe that. The man, who insisted Fitz call him Uncle James, sent the boy out every day insisting he bring back as many bill folds and purses that he could carry and warned him NOT to get caught. His mother hugged him and told him to do as he was told, that it paid the rent. Fitz returned one evening and found the room empty and dark. James told him his mother had gone to London to find work and she’d send for him, until then he was to do whatever James said. But his mother didn’t come back and when the pub owner threw them out James moved them to London.

“He’s got a lot of baggage, Phil.” Melinda sighed without making eye contact.

Phil stared at the coffee in the bottom of his cup debating on having a third. He had no answer, no comeback. Jemma was…well she was a responsibility. Mel had promised her friend she would do this, that if the unthinkable happened she would raise the little girl. Mel was his wife, he would stand by her decision to take Jemma back to the states and care for her as if she was their own. They’d discussed it to death on the plane, in the car and almost every night as they lay together in the bed…in the guest room…in this small house. 

But Fitz…he was a wildcard, a scared kid that Phil had brought home like a stray puppy. Home? It wasn’t even their home, it was Jemma’s home…the home she would lose in less than a month…the home she would not grow up in…the home she would more than likely never see again.

Was he just making things worse?

The warm touch of Mel’s hand on his brought him from his reverie and he gave her a weak smile. “He’s just a little boy.” His comment was barely above a whisper. 

Mel nodded and patted his hand gently. “A lucky little boy to pick the pocket of Philip Coulson, probably the best mistake he’s even made.”

Phil smiled again turning his hand and taking hers. Melinda was a woman of few words, but with that small statement he knew she felt the same as he did about the boy and that she was with him on this journey. He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Did he give you a name?”

“Emilie Fitz,” she nodded, “and James Grant.”

Phil looked at his watch. Melinda sipped her tea. “Bobbi should be here by nine. I’ve already given her the information. I’m sure she’s on it.”

 

By 9 a.m. Mack had risen, showered and was entertaining the kids with his pancake flipping skills. Bobbi had arrived at 8:55 and already had some preliminary information. She’d made contact with a friend in London who helped her through the red tape.

“Most of the info is public record,” she began filling in the couple. “Emilie Fitz gave birth to a son, Leopold, at Glasgow Royal Maternity Hospital. She had just turned eighteen. No father was listed.” She dropped a file on the table pointing out Fitz’s records that ended abruptly six months ago, according to the Busby Primary School. She had a call into the school and was waiting for answers. Emilie worked a lot of jobs as a clerk or a waitress but was usually dismissed because of the time she missed. They lived in a two bedroom walk-up until they were evicted…six months ago. That was all she had, but her friend, Hunter, would continue his investigation this morning. He had friends on the police force and an old flame that had some kind of social services job. 

Bobbie watched as Phil and Melinda leafed through the paperwork she’d dropped on the desk. “Are you two sure…”

“No doubts,” Phil answered before she finished.

“It won’t be easy.”

“Most things aren’t.”

“Even if we find out what happened…if we get the whole story…an international adoption can take years.”

“Won’t be the first time we’ve moved mountains,” Phil looked up from the form in his hand and grinned. “And we’ve got some powerful friends.”

Melinda put down the file she held and folded her hands on the desk, “I’m sure the Pope will put in a good word for us.” She teased.


	6. If Truths be Told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Phil and Melinda continue digging into the boy's past, Fitz' safety is threatened by a suspicious stranger

It was slow going. Informing social services was definitely a mistake as they sent their own investigators to question a now terrified Fitz. Their intention was to remove the boy from Sheffield and return him to Glasgow placing him in foster care or an institute until they could contact a family member. It took everything and everyone Phil knew to prevent that from happening. He pulled a lot of strings to assure he and Melinda would be assigned the kid’s temporary caregivers. Mack, Bobbi and her friend Hunter continued their own investigation, but Fitz had once again clammed up tight and refused to discuss anything about the situation. 

While the investigations of Phil’s security firm and the local social services continued to come up empty, their inquiries were enough to let James Grant find what he had been looking for since his meal ticket had disappeared a few weeks ago. He made his way to Sheffield and had no problem finding the Simmons residence. He stood across the street in the dim shadows created by the many trees and overgrown hedgerow of that property. He took one long last drag on his cigarette, dropped it to the ground and crushed it into the dirt with his well-worn boot. The man ran his hand through his long dark greasy hair and let out a half sigh-half growl.

Jamie Grant had to get that kid before he talked, before he gave anyone any idea about trying to find out what happened to Emilie. Yeah the kid had believed his story about his mum going off to look for work, wanting to make a better life for them. The little git even fell for his ruse about meeting her in London, but he saw the way the kid looked at him. That brat was too smart for his own good and he would put it together. He’d figure it out, but he’d get to him first and make sure he kept his smart-aleck little mouth shut.

He hadn’t killed Emilie…not really. He just helped put her out of her misery. He knew she was sick and getting sicker. The coughing had become so intense and although she hid the blood from the kid, he was sure her time was limited. When she became too weak even to feed herself, he just did nothing. The kid tried, lord he tried…gave her weak tea and broth…like that would do any good. He snickered in spite of himself. When he found her practically lifeless on the floor of the bath he simply helped her along a bit, snapped her neck, rolled her in an old blanket, took her out to the middle of the river and well with enough weights she’d sink in that filthy water and with any luck become wedged in the sludge that made up its bottom. In any case, no one would ever find her and the only one that would ever miss her was that grubby little brat.

But the kid was clever and quick. He could pick a pocket, snag a purse or lift any item from the mall faster and smoother than he’d ever been able to do, faster and smoother than anyone he knew. And he was puny and uselessly cute. No one ever suspected that innocent little pixie face. Best of all he was easily manipulated and terrified of the tales and threats he’d levied on him in the time he’d taught him his trade. Leopold Fitz was the best thing that ever happened to him. The kid did the work and he reaped the benefits and if the kid got caught there was nothing to connect them…unless he talked and Grant would make sure that would never happen.

He paced back and forth debating on how to grab the kid. There were always so many people coming and going from that damn house. There were two women; the dark haired one seemed to be in charge. Everyone jumped when she spoke. There were also two, sometimes three, men. Two were scrawny by his observation but the third was a giant and definitely one he had no desire to tangle with for any reason. And there was another kid, a girl who looked to be around the same age as the boy. He rarely saw one without the other and never without at least one of the adults. Dammit, it was like the kid had a personal guard. Maybe trying to snatch him wasn’t the best idea. He knew the social busybodies were looking for the kid’s family. So if Uncle Jamie showed up…

Jemma stared at the little black whiskers that lined her right palm. They were fascinating. She couldn’t help taking off the bandage that Melinda changed every day just to look at the tiny knots that held together her torn hand. After four days it didn’t really hurt much, in fact it kind of itched a bit but she forced herself not to touch the incision. She knew bacteria could invade the injury and create a condition called sepsis and that could be deadly. She carefully rewrapped her hand and replaced the small strips of adhesive tape to hold it there.

“How do you keep looking at that?” Fitz grimaced and shivered as he walked around Jemma into her bedroom.

Jemma jumped a bit and turned to face him. “Fitz,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

“I did not sneak up on you.” He countered. “I just walked in. You were so interested in your bloody wounded hand you didn’t so much as hear me.” 

She smiled. “Oh, but Fitz, it’s so interesting. How do they tie such tiny knots and why doesn’t the thread rip the skin and how…”

Fitz held up a hand and threw the other over his mouth as he lurched forward with an exaggerated gag. His face grew pale and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Why would you even want to look at such a thing?” He wailed in disbelief.

“It’s science, Fitz, medicine. Isn’t it so interesting? I’m going to ask Dr. Fletcher when he takes out…” she stopped and raised her eyebrows. “Oh Fitz, do you want to come? Do you want to watch him remove the sutures?”

“You are mental!” He shouted, taking a step back. “I bloody had to sit and watch them sew you back together. I’ll not be there to bloody well watch again!”

Before the girl could respond Bobbie stepped into the room. “What is all the arguing about? I can hear you two from the stairs.” She smiled at the look on the children’s faces then turned to Fitz. “You really need to watch your language, laddie.” Both children giggled at her attempt to imitate the boy’s brogue.

A second later both were recounting their conversation in rapid fire, neither taking a breath or seeming to notice the other was speaking as well. 

The woman held up a hand and made a vain attempt to silence the pair but ended up merely ushering both out of the room and back down to the kitchen for lunch.

“How long will Aunt Mel be gone?” Jemma asked as she slid on to the chair and pulled a napkin onto her lap. “Will she be back before I see Dr. Fletcher to have my sutures removed?”

Fitz slapped a hand to his forehead and plopped down on the chair opposite the little girl. “Again with the bleedin’ sutures,” he drew out the last word mocking Jemma’s comment. “I think you did that to yourself on purpose just to have the damn things put in.”

“Don’t say damn, Fitz.” Bobbie and Jemma stated together without missing a beat.

The boy shook his head, turned up one side of his mouth and wiggled into a more comfortable position on his chair. He lifted the corner of the sandwich on the plate in front of him and sniffed quickly then smiled as he picked up half and took a bite. He set it down and chewed vigorously.

Jemma picked up one of the quarters of her sandwich and took a small bite watching as Fitz took a second bite before he had swallowed the first. Both his cheeks bulged with what he chewed. “You’re going to choke yourself.” She commented after swallowing her tiny morsel.

“And you’ll still be eating lunch at supper time.” The boy mumbled around the food in his mouth spitting crumbs in all directions.

Jemma grimaced and pulled her head back in disgust then turned toward Bobbi who had seated herself at the table between the combatants. Before she could ask, Bobbi answered her question. “Your aunt and uncle should be home by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Do you think they’ll have good news?” Jemma asked quietly as she moved the food around on her plate and took a second nibble of her sandwich. She still was not eating very much and did her best to hide that fact.

Fitz had finished the first half of his sandwich and was digging into the second. He opened his mouth to take a large bite but stopped at Bobbi’s glare and took a gulp of tea instead. He knew they were talking about him. He knew Phil and May were trying to find out about him, but he also knew he needed to keep quiet. He remembered all of Grant’s threats. He unconsciously covered his right ear remembering the pain and the incessant ringing after the man had smacked his head so hard he was sure he’d never hear again. It still hurt every now and then if he turned his head a certain way, but that was another secret he’d keep.

“And I don’t see Dr. Fletcher until Friday, so she will be here then…to go with me?”

Fitz smirked a bit behind his sandwich. Crazy-‘I love my little stitches-Jemma sounded scared. Maybe she wasn’t totally daft after all. He thought again about the Coulsons and hoped they might find his ma, but they were in Busby and Grant said she went to London. He and Grant were there almost a month and they hadn’t found her, but Phil seemed very good at his job so maybe…

“Fitz…” Jemma’s voice startled him. He looked down and saw his sandwich was gone though he didn’t remember finishing it. “Do you or do you not want a fairy cake? Bobbi was kind enough to bring them from the baker.”

Fitz blinked a few times and nodded as Bobbie set a plate on the table. He reached for one of the sweets. “Can I have two?” He smiled batting his eyes at the tall blond.

“I think one is more than enough,” Bobbie smiled back. “You can save the other for after dinner.”

The boy huffed and sat back in his chair. But pulled himself back to the table and dug into his treat when both Bobbie and Jemma laughed at his plight. He knew Jemma wouldn’t eat any of the little cakes, so he and Hunter could finish them off before bedtime. He opened as wide as possible, took the biggest bite his skinny nine-year-old mouth could manage and succeeded in chomping half the cupcake.

Bobbi shook her head. “I can’t believe how much of a bad influence Hunter has been already.”

 

It took every coin in his pocket to get himself cleaned up and purchase proper clothing but James Grant stared at his reflection in the shop window and smiled. Gone was the scruffy beard and greasy hair, he couldn’t believe the cost of a respectable shave and haircut. What was left got him a second hand suit and a pair of shoes that didn’t quite fit, but all in all he’d make a fine impression. He’d march right up to that fancy little cottage and knock on the door, tell them he was the boy’s only relative and they’d be on their way before dark. He knew exactly what to use to get that damn kid to comply. He patted his inside pocket just to make sure it was still there. 

He’d have to get a cab to get to the place, couldn’t just walk up with no explanation as to how he got there. Beside that he needed a means to get away. Pinching a few billfolds was risky but he managed and within the hour he was on his way.

Hunter sounded more like a teenager in a battle with his mom as he bargained for pizza for supper. “Come on Bob, May’s not here. She’ll never know we didn’t feed the little nippers that healthy fodder she’s always forcing on them. They could use a break.”

Fitz listened from the hallway and couldn’t help giggle at Hunter’s exploits. He looked back at Jemma who sat in the parlor with a large book in her lap and shrugged his shoulders signaling that their childlike friend had not yet succeeded in his mission. She responded by crossing her fingers and waving them at him. As the discussion from the kitchen moved toward the parlor Fitz scurried into the room and bounced over the arm of the settee snatching up the book that he had been looking at before he moved to hear the conversation a bit better. As the couple reached the doorway a loud rap at the door silenced their argument.

“I’ll do the flying and the buying…” Hunter called after Bobbi as she walked toward the front door. “I’ll even take the little rascals with me if you like.”

Bobbi turned and held up a finger toward him, silently warning him to stop as she reached to open the door. She stepped back at the sight of the gentleman who greeted her. Hunter stopped as well and moved to stand behind her.

The tall slender man slid off his sunglasses and folded them before tucking them inside his dark suit jacket. He smiled broadly and extended his hand.

Bobbi hesitated, wary of a stranger showing up at anytime…anywhere. It was just her nature. She looked at the hand and narrowed her eyes. Hunter stepped between them before she could respond.

“Something I can help you with, mate?” He asked without emotion, giving the man’s hand a weak shake.

The man withdrew his hand and flashed a toothy grin. “I apologize for just showing up unannounced, but I’ve only just gotten back to London.”

“Well that’s splendid.” Hunter quipped raising an eyebrow. “And you’re here soliciting for the next election then are you? Well, we really are not interested, mate, so you can j…”

“I’m looking for family.” The man interrupted.

“You’re a relative of Benjamin Simmons?” Bobbi asked stepping next to Hunter. She wasn’t sure she should be the one giving the man the tragic news…but maybe he already knew. It had been almost a month since… She glanced over her shoulder at Jemma, who was watching intently. She did not want the little girl to have to relive any of that tragedy, not when she had come so far.

“Simmons?” The man looked surprised, confused by the question as if he didn’t know how to answer. He tried to look around the couple standing in his way and shuffled from foot to foot nervously. 

Hunter and Bobbi exchanged a quick suspicious glance. Something was off about this guy.

The man rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and took a deep breath. He smiled. “Let me start again. My name is Jamie Fitz and I’m looking for my nephew.”

The couple froze staring at the man until Bobbi called over her shoulder. “Hey kids, how ‘bout you go upstairs and read for a bit.” The moans of protest were not unexpected. Hunter stifled a laugh. Bobbi gritted her teeth and pulled the door behind her closed just enough to block the man’s view of the children and vice versa. “You want to give them a little encouragement.” She frowned at Hunter who raised his eyebrows and pointed toward his chest in a ‘me?’ gesture. Narrowed eyes and pursed lips answered his unspoken question. 

“Sure, Bob,” He huffed as he looked toward the man in the doorway. “I’ll be right back.”

With that he stepped away and into the parlor, quickly gathering the books from Fitz and Jemma and urging them toward the stairs despite their protests. 

“I don’t want to go up there with her.” Fitz moaned. “She’ll be just that close to the washroom and want to be all looking at her bloody hand again.” He stomped up the steps ahead of Hunter and the girl.

Jemma giggled as Hunter wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “No, no Jemma promises she won’t do anything of the sort. Right, love?” She nodded at the man and hurried to catch up with Fitz.

“Come on, Fitz, I’ve got a 3D puzzle of the Great Pyramid. You’d like to help with that won’t you?” She asked as if she was involved the ploy to get him out of earshot.

Hunter smiled as watched as the two walked the length of the hall and turned into Jemma’s room. He waited until the heard the sound of the door shutting, turned and took two steps at a time back to the door.

Bobbie and Jamie Fitz hadn’t made much progress. He told her he’d been away in Belfast on business and had returned a week ago. He’d been trying to locate his family since and had found out from social services that Leo was in Sheffield.

“Little odd they didn’t tell us you were coming.” Bobbi was saying as Hunter stepped back into view. She stood with her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowed as she looked at the man with her head tilted just a bit. Hunter knew that look and he didn’t trust this bloke either.

“I didn’t tell them I was coming…it was…was kind of a spur of the moment thing.” Jamie stuttered suddenly feeling this wasn’t going as well as he expected. Whoever these people were they were quite good at interrogation. He fought the urge to run realizing, or perhaps just guiltily fearing they were some sort of police. The woman was a Yank, for sure and the other had a familiar accent but looked way too grubby to be a proper constable. He thought about it again and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he continued. “Perhaps I should come in so we can get this all sorted.” He stepped forward, blocked by Hunter who did the same.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, mate. We don’t know you from Adam and you just show up on our doorstep and figure we’ll just send you off with the boy. Maybe you should just get on your bike, then.” Hunter took a more defensive stance and the man stepped back.

“Hunter, where are you’re manners?” Bobbi crooned placing a hand on his arm. “I think we should give him a chance to explain.” The man stepped forward again but was met with Bobbi’s finger on his chest. “There’s a cozy little gazebo right around the corner of the house, we can all use the fresh air.” She pointed in that direction. “You go right over and get comfortable. We’ll get some cold drinks and meet you there.” She pushed him gently with the palm of her hand closing the door with the other.

Hunter turned toward her in a beat. “Have you totally lost your bloody mind, girl?” He threw his hands up and took a few steps away then turned and walked back. “That bloke is up to no good and you damn well know that as sure as I do.” His voice almost squeaked with his fury.

“Shhh,” Bobbi warned looking toward the stairs, “and watch your mouth, no wonder Fitz sounds like a truck driver!” She turned back and pushed the curtain on the door to the side watching as the man calling himself Jamie Fitz nervously sat at the table in the gazebo. “What does he want with Fitz? His uncle…never…I don’t trust him.” She was speaking more to herself that to Hunter. “He looking for something or he wouldn’t be here, no sense letting him get away until we know what he knows.” She spoke quietly, turned and smiled at Hunter. “Grab a couple beers from the cooler and we’ll see just what we can get out of him.”

 

Fitz stood and looked through the sheer curtains on Jemma’s bedroom window. He fingered a small triangular piece. “Do you know who that gent is there talking to Bobbi and Hunter?” 

Jemma knelt on the floor in front of the puzzle they had managed to almost complete. She looked from the piece in her hand to the pyramid and then back. “I think you have the piece I need,” she answered.

The boy walked over, squatted down and popped the small piece into place. “Do you?” He asked again. Jemma shook her head and snapped the piece she held next to the one Fitz had just placed. Going back to the window the boy peered out but could only see the man’s shoulder and the side of his leg, the rest was blocked by the hedge and the roof of the small pergola. 

Behind him he heard three quick snaps and Jemma exclaimed it was complete before he felt her standing next to him. “I’m sure I don’t know him.” She shrugged.

“How can you tell? You can’t even see his face?” He growled.

“Oh don’t get all grumpy. I didn’t recognize his voice when he spoke to Bobbi. I have perfect auditory recollection.” She smiled back. 

He looked at her for a beat. “Is that even a real thing?”

“Well it’s actually called eidetic auditory memory, but I was trying to simplifying it for you.”

“I know what eidetic memory is. Do you think I’m a duffer?” Now he sounded insulted. 

Jemma hung her head and for a moment it seemed as though she would cry. She looked up slowly and spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, Fitz. Sometimes I just don’t think before I say something. I never meant to hurt you.”

The boy let out a heavy breath. “It’s okay. But just remember I know things too. I’m not a dimwit.”

She gave a small smile and quick nod as they both turned back to observe the adults below.

 

“Well I can sympathize with you, Mr. Fitz, but you have to understand that without some sort of verification we can’t just hand Leo over to you.” Bobbi stated before taking a long draw on her beer. “After all, how do we know you don’t mean the boy harm?” She posed the question to gage his reaction.

The man shuffled his feet and squirmed in his chair. They were trying to trick him, trap him in his lies. He was smarter than they thought, he wasn’t about to fall for their ploy. “I don’t see how you can keep me from my own family.” His voice now had an edge that was not lost on the well trained security agents.

“Where exactly did you say Leo’s mother, your sister, is?” Bobbi asked for what seemed like the tenth time, each time he had sidestepped the question. The calm in her voice did nothing to quell Grant’s building fury. “It seems so strange that his mother isn’t with you, him being gone for so long?”

The man stood quickly, knocking the chair over behind him. “What difference does it make where she is? I’m here!” Now he was shouting, both hands balled into tight fists. “She’s a bloody addict, can’t do right by the lad, never has.” He leaned forward and slammed both hands on the small table they shared. “She’s gone off and probably gotten herself totally caned, if she’s not lying dead with a needle in her arm in some damn alley!” He slammed both hands a second time and pushed himself away exhaling loudly. His eyes flashed.

Neither Bobbi nor Hunter reacted to his anger, but simply continued to sip their drinks. Sure the guy was upset and putting on a good show, but he wasn’t a threat. Either could take him easily. On the other hand, even if it turned out he was Leo’s uncle, the man was violent, hostile and short tempered. Certainly not a trait looked for in placing a child with a guardian.

James spun away from the couple staring toward the road with his hands on his hips. He took several deep breaths. This had gotten out of control and was going nowhere. It would not be as easy to get the kid as he planned. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to calm himself before turning back. “Look, I just want to take my nephew home. The boy’s been through bloody hell.” He was trying desperately and failing to control his ire.

Bobbi smiled and put down the beer she was nursing, “and again, Mr. Fitz, without proper paperwork that is not going to happen.”

“We can make a few calls to the agencies in Glasgow. I’m sure they can help, probably send someone out straight away. That is if you don’t mind the wait. There’s a pub down the way a bit, you can take up there and we’ll have them come get you.” Hunter added.

“If Leo’s mother made you his guardian they should have no problem granting you custody, but until then he’ll be safe with us.” Bobbi assured him almost sarcastically.

This time the man slammed his fist into the table and pointed a finger at her. “You haven’t heard the last from me!” He spat through his teeth before grabbing the small table and sending it across the yard with one hard shove. He turned and stormed back toward the road disappearing behind the hedgerow.

Hunter took a long drink, slowly took the bottle from his lips and pointed it toward Jamie’s exit. “That bloke has got a mean temper.”

“But not the boy,” Bobbi finished looking toward the two children watching from the upstairs window.

 

Fitz was a bit quieter than usual the rest of the evening, barely ate supper and had no interest in the leftover fairy cakes, even when Hunter threatened to eat all of them by himself. When Bobbi announced bedtime the boy’s normal bartering for ten more minutes was forgotten. He climbed the stairs slowly, dressed for bed and climbed into the small cot that Phil had placed in Jemma’s room for him. By the time Jemma crawled into her bed and Bobbi came to say goodnight he was turned toward the wall and softly snoring. Bobbi tucked the covers around him and patted his shoulder knowing already that the boy resisted most affection.

“Perhaps he’s not feeling well.” Jemma surmised as Bobbi straightened the covers on her bed. “He was acting a bit odd this afternoon.”

Bobbi pulled the blanket up to Jemma’s chin and sat on the side of her bed. “Odd how?” She asked softly.

“He repeatedly asked if I knew the man you and Hunter were speaking with in the garden. I told him no several times, but he kept asking. And he just wouldn’t move from the window. When the man stomped away he looked like he would cry. I even thought then he might be ill, but he just got all quiet.” She looked toward him. “I do hope he isn’t coming down with something dreadful. I don’t think he cares very much for Dr. Fletcher.”

Bobbi patted the girl’s hand and stood. “Don’t worry about Fitz, honey. We’ll make sure he’s safe and healthy. May and Coulson will be back tomorrow hopefully with some good news and we can get all of this settled. Until then Hunter, Mack and I will make sure we don’t have to worry about any strangers showing up here.” She placed a kiss on the forehead of the little girl she had grown very fond of in a very short period of time. “Good night, sweetie, see you in the morning.”

Bobbi flicked off the light and pulled the door closed behind her. Jemma blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and turned on her side. “Good night, Fitz.” She smiled before closing her eyes.

Fitz awoke hours later pulled from restless sleep by the same nightmare that haunted his every night. James Grant was chasing him, always a few feet behind and then his legs would freeze. He wanted to run, he knew he could but his legs would not move. It was as if they had turned to stone. Grant got closer and closer and then he could hear his mother telling him to keep going to find help, to help her. And then the scream, he was never quite sure who was screaming but it always woke him and tonight was no different. 

He sat up quickly, throwing the blankets off his sweat drenched body. He was breathing heavy but had learned to keep it quiet, quiet so James would not know he was awake. Carefully he slid off the cot and padded to the door then turned the knob slowly and slipped out into the hall without a sound. He stood for a moment blinking in the soft light that shone through the window at the top of the stairs. The beating of his heart against his chest was so loud it blocked out all other sound. He placed both hands over it in an attempt to keep it quiet. He needed to hear, to hear any sound that would alert him. Walking close to the wall he made his way to the bathroom, relieved himself and splashed cool water on his overly warm face. Usually by this point in his nightly ritual he had realized it was just a dream and could return to his bed, not to sleep but to rest until daybreak. 

Tonight was different because today the nightmare sat in the garden talking to Hunter and Bobbi, probably telling them he would take him away. At first he didn’t like all the rules and supervision in Phil’s house but he liked the terror of James Grant much less. If it wasn’t so dark he’d just get dressed and run, run as far as he could get before they started to look for him. But what if James was out there…in the dark…waiting for him…the nightmare would be real. He sat on the cold porcelain edge of the tub and let the thoughts tumble forward. Brushing away the hot tears that he couldn’t stop from falling he knew he was trapped. He couldn’t run and he couldn’t stay here, the safest place he had ever lived. He wished Phil was there. Phil would talk and he’d be calm and then together they’d be calm. He wished for Melinda too, despite the fact that he was more than intimidated by her, he knew she’d kick James’ ass all over Sheffield if he stepped on the property again. He smiled at that mental picture.

A soft clicking noise caught his attention. He stood up and moved closer to the door, putting his ear against it. The sound clicked again, a bit louder…a bit closer and then stopped. His breathing quickened and again he could feel his heart against his chest. Someone was in the house. He opened the door a crack and peeked out but saw nothing. He stepped into the hall and stood facing the stairs trying to gather enough courage to walk to the top and look down. He took one slow step and stopped, then took a second. Before he could take a third step a loud crash and a stream of cursing caused him to turn and run not back to Jemma’s room but to the door at the end of the hallway. He turned the knob, pushed inside and slammed it with a soft thud.

The light in the room came on and the large man in the large bed pushed himself up on one elbow.

“Yo, what’s the problem, Turbo?” He asked groggily.

Fitz stood plastered against the door, taking deep breaths and still holding fast to the door knob. His eyes were wide and his chest rose and fell like a hammer. “Can I sleep here?” It came out before he could stop it, between his deep gulps of breath.

The large man pulled back the blanket in assent and the boy did not hesitate to sprint across the room and jump into the bed pulling uncharacteristically close to the muscular giant. The man dropped the blanket over the boy then reached and turned off the light. “Ya don’t snore do you little man?”

Fitz shook his head and breathed, “thank you, Mack.”

“Anytime, Turbo,” the man replied around a yawn as he wriggled back into a comfortable position and reclaimed his sleep.

Snuggled under the blanket against the largest, strongest man he had ever met, Fitz drifted back into a fitful sleep.


	7. Facing the Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz faces the terror, defending Jemma in the process

“What do you mean he just showed up at the door?” Phil fought to keep the anxiety out of his voice. Melinda paced behind him.

“That’s pretty self explanatory.” Bobbie answered in the same tone of voice.

“Let me get this straight…we spend the last three weeks searching every lead we have and come up empty handed and this guy just walks up and rings the doorbell.” Now Phil paced as well, waving his arms and shaking his head as he tried to make sense of what he’d been told by one of his best agents.

“Well, actually he knocked.” Hunter mumbled from his perch. He leaned against the doorframe with his arms across his chest staring at the tiled kitchen floor. 

“Noted!” Coulson barked, slamming his palms against the table. From his position he could see the children in the garden behind the house; Jemma in her usual place on the swing and Fitz pulling on the iron gate in the wall that lead to the path beyond. He dropped his head and took a long breath. Melinda had stopped her movement and stood quietly with the others waiting for him to continue.

“What exactly did he say?” His voice was softer, calmer as he rose and turned to face Bobbi.

After reporting everything they had said and done with James Grant the group was once again in search of information. According to records they found through social services Emilie Fitz had one sibling, a sister who died in the Balklans in 1992. It wasn’t clear if she had been military, but for some reason she had been near Sarajevo that September. Coulson let this drop feeling it had little to do with his search for information on Fitz. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Bobbi had pulled out all the information that had been filed as ‘unproductive’. The sister, Jean had not been married and had no offspring. Both parents were deceased and if any distant relatives existed were no names or means of contact. All four agents scoured the records for any mention of James Fitz.

“What about known associates?” Bobbi sighed dropping the file she had just scanned onto the pile in the center of the table. 

“She was a sometimes-waitress, Bob, what associates?” Hunter moaned tilting back on his chair and rubbing his eyes. “This is pointless.” He dropped the chair forward, rose, walked to the refrigerator and returned with a bottle of the local brew. He used the opener to pop the cap and took a long drink, pointed the tip of the bottle at Coulson and swallowed. “We need to find this guy before…”

Jemma’s high pitched scream cut off his statement as all four adults scrambled to the feet and raced for the back door.

 

A few minutes before the girl had strolled across the garden to stand next to Fitz who was still struggling with the iron gate. “What are you doing there, Fitz?” She asked quietly as she stepped behind him.

“Trying to lock this damn gate,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t lock,” Jemma informed him. “It never did.”

“Well what in bloody hell good is a bloody damn gate that doesn’t lock?” He pulled it back and forth roughly causing it to scrape against the wall and rattle hollowly. 

“You shouldn’t say…” Jemma’s voice remained calm despite Fitz’ tantrum.

“Damn! Damn! Damn! DAMN!” Fitz screamed as he kicked the gate until it swung open and tilted on rusty hinges. He turned and balled his fists striking them against his thighs. “I_will_say_damn_as_much_as _I_want_to_say_damn, damn, damn!” He screamed again with his eyes squeezed shut. “Stop telling me to stop!”

Jemma had stepped back, shocked by the boy’s actions. Neither noticed the stranger who had slipped from the brush behind the wall and through the now open gate.

“That’s right you little git,” James Grant growled through his teeth as he snatched the small boy around the waist pulling him up to his chest. “Thought you’d just go off to the grand life and leave me to the streets, then did ya?”

For a moment Fitz was terrified, frozen in place until he heard Jemma.

“You put him down, you cad!” The girl moved quickly and although she was small, the kicks she landed against his lower legs caused considerable pain. He almost dropped the boy who suddenly came alive kicking his upper legs with the heels of both feet as he scratched and pounded his hands and arms. The girl added to her assault as she dove forward landing one handed hard punches against his midsection.

But James Grant was not about to be taken down by two brats. He flipped the boy sideways and held him under one arm. The scratching continued but the kicking was now impossible. With his other large hand he grabbed the little witch by the hair and pulled her off the ground. She let out a scream loud enough to rival the bean sidhe. He let go and grabbed her upper arm pulling her close. He leaned close and told her to be quiet or her friend might get hurt. To show he was serious he squeezed the boy tighter, causing Fitz to let out an ‘ooff’ and a small whine as he quickly brought both hands to his stomach where the man held him fast. He squeezed tighter causing the boy to cry out.

Grant looked around the garden and realized the only way out was the way he came in and now he’d have to drag the girl along as well. He dropped Fitz to his feet, holding tight to his upper arm and shook him hard causing the boy’s head to snap back and forth. “Do as I say and she won’t get hurt.” He shook Jemma just as hard holding her as she almost crumpled to the ground. 

Before he could turn to drag both children through the narrow opening in the wall he looked back toward the house as four armed agents raced forward.

“Stop right there!” The one who seemed to be in charge shouted as he halted and aimed his pistol. 

He heard the clicks of three more from different angles throughout the yard. Jemma gasped at the sight before her. Fitz let out a whimper as Grant pulled him and Jemma to stand before him…a human child shield. He shook both children and squatted down until his head was even with theirs.  
“James Fitz.” Bobbi spat, close enough for Coulson to hear. He nodded his understanding.

“You’re not getting out of here, so let the kids go.” He spoke calmly, almost matter-of-factly.

Grant shook his head letting out a nasal laugh. “I see myself with the advantage here, mate. You’re not going to shoot with these wee bairns standing right here now.” He shook both children again and slid his hands from their arms to the backs of their necks. He brought his lips together in an ‘o’ and smiled with his eyes. “Such skinny little necks they have, almost like wee birdies. It would be such a shame to hold them too harsh then wouldn’t it.” Both children grimaced in pain as he tightened his grip. 

“Now, all four of ya are gonna put those things away and back off. This one here,” he shook Fitz forward then pulled him close. “This one is mine and he’s comin’ with me. This one,” he shook Jemma just a bit gentler then leaned forward and took a long sniff of her hair. “Yeah, this one I’ll just take for insurance. Might be, I’ll leave her somewhere ye can find her…someday.” He laughed again as Jemma began to sob. 

“That’s not gonna happen, James.” Coulson’s tone hadn’t changed. He remained calm despite the fact that his heart was slamming against his chest and he could feel the sweat running down his spine. He could see May out of the corner of one eye, inching closer to the man. Hunter had also gone wide and now moved along the wall to the far left of the intruder. Bobbi remained close behind.

“You know I can snap their necks before you pull that trigger.” He sneered giving away the nervousness in his voice. 

“But you won’t.” Coulson smiled as he stepped forward.

“You think I can’t do it? I’ve done it before.” He sounded like the school yard bully, boasting over his conquests.

“Sure you have,” Coulson crooned and took another step with Bobbi following. Hunter and May were closing the gap as well. Grant’s eyes flicked from one to the other and back. He glanced at the gate a few feet behind. This did not go without notice. “You’ll have to stand up to run, James, make you a much bigger target.” Phil smiled.

Grant smiled back, wrapped his arms around the children’s waists and lifted them as he stood. “I’m no bloody pillock!” He backed toward the gate never breaking eye contact with Coulson who continued to advance. He held Jemma a bit higher and snorted, “and if ya ever do see this one again, she won’t be so pretty then will she!” He took the last few backward steps, squeezed out the tight opening in the wall and grumbled into Fitz’ ear. “Now grab the gate and close it lad and we’ll be on our way.”

Fitz stared at Phil, pleading with him for rescue, to do anything to make this nightmare stop. He looked toward Jemma trying to block out her sobbing and then noticed that his was in harmony with hers. He reached for the gate and suddenly was pulled away as James, Jemma and he were thrown backward to the ground. Quickly Fitz rolled away, scrambled to his feet, pulled Jemma to hers and pushed her behind him. He brought his small fists in front of him and wiped his tears with the sleeve of his jumper.

“You leave her alone!” His voice squeaked as a large hand fell on his shoulder. He began swinging wildly.

“Hey, hey Turbo, slow down there, it’s me.” Despite the horror of the situation, Mack’s voice seemed laced with humor. He held his hands before him deflecting the boy’s punches easily.

Fitz slowed his effort gradually before he opened his eyes and dove into the large man’s open arms. “Mack,” he sighed into his friend’s shoulder. Mack held him close and pulled Jemma into the hug as well.

Coulson and the others burst through the gate a few seconds later to be met by the sight of Mack squatting in front of both children assuring them they were now safe. James Fitz lay sprawled unconscious a few feet away.

“Mack,” Coulson breathed a sigh of relief as he holstered his gun. Melinda and Bobbi quickly moved to the children while Hunter half kicked/half rolled Grant to his stomach and secured his wrists. He turned back and smirked at the large man now standing next to Coulson.

“What the hell is going on?” He snarled at Phil. “I just got back from checking that lead in London and walk into this! Who is that guy?” He tossed his head toward the man who now grumbled as he began to wake.

 

Despite protest Jemma and Fitz were hustled off to Dr. Fletcher’s office, both received thorough examinations and other than a few bruises were given a nod from the doctor. Coulson and Hunter filled in Mack on the man they knew as James Fitz after turning him over to the local constables. A few hours later the entire crew sat in the small parlor just enjoying the fact that they could.

Phil and Melinda rested on the love seat with Jemma and Fitz snuggled between them. Mack looked like a real giant squeezed into the small but comfy chair in the corner, while Bobbi and Hunter took up space on the floor in front of the crackling fire place. 

“You’re safe, now,” Melinda assured Jemma wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer. Jemma nodded and relaxed into the half-hug. 

“We won’t let him get to you, Fitz. You don’t have to worry.” Phil promised a skeptical Fitz putting a hand on the boy’s knee and squeezing gently. Fitz nodded but made eye contact with no one, simply stared ahead and remained quiet.

“No way is that blighter getting anywhere near you, kiddo, even if he is your uncle.” Hunter almost snarled until Bobbi poked her elbow into his side reminding him to watch his tone with the children. Both she and Mack nodded and gave their own verbal reassurances that they would protect him as well as Jemma.

The adults continued their conversation, carefully avoiding anything they deemed too frightening for the kids to hear. They recounted the first visit from James and the altercation in the garden. Hunter was quick to slap Mack on the knee and congratulate him for the hundredth time for his actions. Mack shook his head refusing to again tell him he did not do it for the kudos. Coulson reassured everyone that the man was now in custody and probably wouldn’t see the light of day for some time to come. He was sure there was more the idiot would be charged with before this was truly over. The conversation went on as everyone added to it and moved from one subject to another.

“He’s not.” Fitz’ voice was small, barely audible above the adults but Jemma pulled forward to acknowledge she’d heard. “He’s not.” The boy declared again a bit louder. Jemma wrinkled her brow, clearly confused. Phil patted his leg but continued speaking to Hunter. Fitz looked from one adult to the other and back to Jemma. “HE’S NOT!” His shout stopped the conversation as all eyes trained on him.

The boy swallowed and dropped his view to the floor. 

“You want to say something, Fitz?” Phil asked turning toward the boy.

“He’s…he’s not…” He whispered into his own chest before picking up his head allowing everyone to see the unspent tears in his eyes. “He’s not my uncle.” Fitz finally spit out quickly swiping the tears from his cheeks with his sleeves. “He’s NOT my uncle.” He said again with more conviction. 

The room went quiet, almost as if everyone was holding their breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. Seconds of uncomfortable silence ticked by until Melinda shattered it. “Go on.”

Fitz looked into May’s eyes swallowing the fear he had of the woman and gave a quick nod. “He’s not James Fitz like you’re all saying. He’s James Grant. My maw and me lived with him for a bit in Busby. He told me she went to find work in London.” He looked up at Phil. “That’s why I was there. That’s who I was watching for that day. He’d whack me good if I did not get back with what I’d pinched. I knew he’d come looking.” 

It was a confession, an explanation that the boy hadn’t been able to give to the man.

“It’s okay, Fitz.” Phil spoke softly. “We understand. We aren’t upset with you.” He smiled at the boy who was still trying unsuccessfully to hold back tears.

Those tears fell freely as Fitz told his entire story, how his mother had gotten sick and how they lost their flat and how they came to live with Grant. He told them as much as he could about as much as he could and then he cried more, cried until there were no tears left. Phil handed him his handkerchief and wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders pulling him close. He was pleasantly surprised when the boy didn’t pull away. 

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing my maw again. He’s probably gone and done away with her, hasn’t he?” He mumbled into Phil’s side.

“We don’t know that Fitz,” Coulson answered honestly looking for support from the others. “We’ll keep looking.” The others nodded but the look Melinda gave him said it all. Despite his honesty in answering the boy’s question they both knew when and if they found Emilie Fitz she would more than likely be deceased. He gave her a subtle nod and pulled the boy next to him even closer.


	8. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz learns the truth about his mother....and not to test May

The arrest of James Grant and Fitz finally opening up to providing valuable information helped pull the investigation together. Bobbi and Hunter were put in charge of the new London office with their first priority…finding the status of Emilie Fitz. Coulson and Mack returned to Busby visiting the flat Grant had shared with Fitz and his mother. The local police finally acquiesced and allowed them to participate in the investigation. The evidence collected in the small apartment did not look promising. Melinda dealt with the solicitors representing the Simmons estate as she was slightly more familiar with British law than the rest. 

Despite the difficulty with gaining custody of Fitz, Jemma’s case moved swiftly and without contest. Melinda was more than thrilled that they would be returning to D.C. before the beginning of the new school term. Jemma had missed enough school and needed to get back into a normal routine, not that moving to a new country would be the least bit normal for her. She knew that Phil had his heart set on taking Fitz with them as well, but it did not look promising. Without knowing the whereabouts of his mother they could not simply take the boy out of the country. For that he would need parental permission and well…that wasn’t going to happen. If the worst happened and Emilie was dead it would start an entire new situation and miles of red tape to cut through. 

On this afternoon, Melinda and the two children sat in the Sheffield Combined Court Center waiting to see the magistrate and sign the last of the documents that would make her and Phil Jemma’s legal guardians. They sat on a wooden bench in the busy hallway, Melinda wedged between the two children. Jemma sat with her hands folded in her lap occasionally straightening her dark pleated skirt anxiously. Her feet, crossed at the ankle in true lady-like fashion, swung more than a few inches from the floor. She looked to Melinda every few seconds and smiled weakly, clearly unsure of what was going to happen today and in the near future.

Fitz pushed himself to the edge of the bench, making sure his feet touched the floor. He drummed his fingers on the wide arm of the seat and peered at the large clock at the opposite end of the hall. He pulled at the bowtie at his neck and scratched at the vest he’d been forced to wear. “What’s taking them so bloomin’ long? My arse is sore from this damn bench.” He stood and rubbed his backside giving him the semblance of an elderly gent.

“If you don’t watch the language it’s going to be sore from something else.” Melinda leaned forward and growled near the back of his head, barely above a whisper.

Jemma peered around her aunt. “Fitz, don’t exaggerate so.” Her voice was quiet and sing-song. “We’ve been here all of fifteen minutes.”

The boy knitted his brows, folded his arms over his chest and mumbled to himself. “Least you get a family out of it.” 

Melinda stared at the back of the little boy’s head and chose to ignore the comment only because the clerk had stepped out of the glass door and motioned for her to enter. She stood and urged the children in the door first.

The man seated at the desk in the small office looked stern and aggravated with spectacles resting just below the bridge of his nose. He glared at the group as they entered, eying Melinda up and down, passing visual judgment that immediately put her on edge. She smiled anyway and stood behind the seat that the clerk offered in front of the man’s desk. 

“The children can stay with the clerk while we complete our business.” He commented without looking up from the stack of files on his cluttered desk.

“The children will stay right here with me.” Melinda countered in the same tone, causing him to look up and remove his glasses. He glared at her and in true form she glared back refusing to back down.

The man took a deep breath and glanced at the clerk who still stood with her hand on the door knob waiting for instructions. He and glared at the children before barking, “sit over there and not one word from either of you.” He nodded toward a large chair against the far wall but neither child moved until Melinda gave a quick nod.

“They don’t teach much about manners in the States.” It was a statement, not a question and he smirked at Melinda as he made it.

She already despised the man. “I’d like to sign the documents, please.” Melinda stated, stressing the please.

The magistrate shuffled a few files and looked through the names on each. “I don’t seem to have the Simmons’ file, Miss Russell.”

“I put it on your desk just this morning, sir.” The young woman responded nervously. “I’m sure it’s there.”

Again the man shuffled through the papers. “No…no…I don’t see it. Perhaps it is still with the solicitor. We can send a man round to his office to check. I’m sure the lady won’t mind the wait.” Melinda wanted to knock the sarcastic smirk off his face, but pursed her lips and evened her breathing.

“Sir…” The young clerk began.

“Oh, yer arse is out the window…” Fitz snorted from the chair he shared with Jemma. “It’s bloody right there in front of you. You were reading it when we entered.”

“Fitz!” Jemma whispered a warning pulling him back down as he stood. Melinda merely turned and glared, but the boy shook off his friend’s hand and walked toward the desk.

“It’s right here.” He tapped a finger on the paperwork in the center of the desk and pursed his lips before continuing. “You’re feckin’ manners aren’t showin’ either, mate.”

The magistrate mumbled some excuse and ducked his head to hide the blush. Melinda, who had moved to stand behind the boy, took him by the shoulders and directed him back to the chair. She bent and spoke close to his ear. “You and I are going to have a very serious discussion.” 

Fitz rolled his eyes and stomped back to Jemma plopping hard on the chair with his arms across his chest. 

Melinda watched him for a moment as she gained her composure then turned back to the magistrate and smiled. “I know everything is in order.” The man nodded and turned the file toward her. He held out a pen and pointed to the line on the bottom of the form on top.

“Sign here,” he tapped the spot with his index finger then flipped the page, “and here and then here.” He had turned another few pages.

She took the pen and quickly scribbled across each line as he watched then handed back the pen. He signed as well and used a large stamp to verify each page then returned them to the file and handed it to Melinda.

“The clerk will show you out and make sure you get your copies of the forms.” He pushed his glasses back on and waved his hand toward the door dismissing them.

Melinda narrowed her eyes and shook her head before turning to the children. “Let’s go.” She said through her teeth. 

They followed without a word.

 

Phil and Mack pulled into the driveway a little after 6 p.m. with more information than they had found in the last three weeks and anxious to share it with Melinda. When presented with the evidence they had found in Busby, Grant had rambled on about how Emilie had been sick when he took her in and he’d found her dead on the bathroom floor and gotten rid of the body because he was afraid he’d be blamed. He’d clammed up again when questioned about the whereabouts of the body demanding a solicitor and a deal before he’d give any more. 

They entered the unusually quiet house finding only Jemma seated at the kitchen table pushing a piece of salmon around her plate. She smiled as they entered.

“Hey, sweetie,” Phil smiled back glancing quickly around the room. “Where is everyone?” Mack stood behind and gave a quick wave as he put down his bag and made for the refrigerator. Jemma watched him.

“There are plates for both of you in the warmer.” She smiled at the way Mack rubbed his tummy and wriggled his eyebrows. “Aunt Mel said you’d be hungry.”

Phil put his hands on the back of Jemma’s chair and watched as Mack carried two plates to the table. He waved a hand indicating the large man could have both. Mack asked if he was sure with his eyes and received a quick nod. He shrugged his shoulders, sat down and dug in.

“Did you make this?” He asked around a bite, smiling at the little girl giggling across the table.

She shook her head. “No, Mrs. Miller, the pastor’s wife sent it. She always does when he brings home too many fish.” She leaned closer. He did as well. “They don’t keep, you know.”

Mack raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Well thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Miller.” He smiled again.

“Sweetie,” Phil interrupted. “Where is Aunt Mel? Did everything go alright at the magistrate’s office?”

Jemma’s features became very serious. “Oh yes, that. Well you see,” she turned to face Phil. “Fitz got a bit cheeky with the man and Aunt Mel was a bit irate.”

“Oh?” Phil waited for her to continue.

Jemma became very interested in the few crumbs that had fallen on the napkin on her lap. She flicked at them. “Well, she sent him to his, I mean my, room when we returned. She was quite cross.” She seemed to be hesitating.

Phil stepped around the chair and squatted down to look her in the eye. “Jemma?”

“I think she might have given him a good smacking.” She said quietly as if it were a secret. “Poor Fitz,” she shook her head.

Phil smiled and leaned over to place a soft kiss on her forehead. He patted her knee before he rose. “I see…well…” he looked to Mack who shook his head telling him this was all his. “Well, I guess I’ll go check on them both.”

Mack swallowed. “You do that. Jemma and I will share this wonderful meal and then clean up. Right?” 

Jemma nodded as Phil turned toward the stairs.

 

Fitz sat on the edge of his cot staring at his hands folded on his lap. He sniffled once and quickly swiped an errant tear.

“Rough day?” Phil stood in the doorway, a silhouette in the late summer sun. The boy did not respond, but ran his sleeve quickly across his eyes and squirmed a bit under the man’s gaze. Coulson stepped into the room and slowly sat next him. Fitz scooted away without looking up. “Heard you had a bit of a bad time this afternoon,” Phil commented as he laced his fingers together and rested his arms on his legs. He stared ahead matching the kid’s stare. Fitz shrugged his shoulders. 

After a few quiet moments Phil tried again. “You wanna talk about it?” The boy shook his head and sighed. Phil nodded and laid a hand on Fitz’ back giving him a gentle pat. “Okay…well you know where to find me if you change your mind.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder and stood giving the kid a few seconds just in case then turned and walked toward the door. He stepped across the threshold and stopped when a small voice gave him pause.

“You’re leaving then, aren’t you?” Fitz’ took a deep breath trying to stop tears that now flowed freely. “You’re all done with your da…” he looked up at Phil for the first time and swallowed hard. “Your blasted business and you’ll be off…gone.”

Phil walked back to the boy and squatted down in front of him. “We are going to leave.” Fitz tried to turn away but was stopped by the man’s hand on his shoulder. “All of us, Fitz, including you.” Fitz stopped struggling and looked at the man. “Is that what this is all about? You think we’d leave you.” He waited for the boy to respond. “Not gonna happen, little man. We’re gonna figure this out and make it right.” He rested a hand on the boy’s knee and squeezed a little. “We don’t leave until we do.” 

“She won’t want me.” He shook his head and once again lowered his gaze to his lap. “I don’t think she likes me much…Mrs. May, I mean.” He finished in a whispered breath.

Phil’s heart was aching for this little imp but he also wondered why the boy had already given up on his own mother. Did he know more than he was saying? He wasn’t sure he should share what they’d learned today but wondered why the kid wasn’t asking, wondering, hoping that his mother would be found…alive and well. He did not look forward to telling Fitz of his mother’s fate.

“May’s pretty tough,” Phil smiled, “and it’s not a good idea to cross her.” He almost laughed at the look the kid gave him. “But she cares a lot about you and Jemma.” Fitz turned up one side of his mouth and sighed. “What happened today?”

Fitz shook his head and let out a long breath. “I was being a wise as…” He paused and looked up quickly correcting himself, “mouth…a wise mouth because I thought you would just leave and she wasn’t for it. She warned me but I…”

“Didn’t take the hint, huh?” Phil finished for him. The boy shook his head.

“But I won’t be forgetting any time soon.” He sighed. Phil stifled a laugh.

“May never makes idle threats. That’s something you need to remember.” The boy nodded vigorously. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get some supper?” Phil suggested.

Fitz shook his head just as vigorously. “I’m to stay here until further notice.” He stressed the statement by poking the cot with his finger.

Coulson tousled the boy’s hair as he rose. “I’ll put in a good word for you.” Fitz looked up at him and nodded. 

 

May stood at window sipping a cup of tea. She did not turn when Phil entered the room. 

“Rough day,” he repeated his statement to Fitz as he approached and stood behind her.

She took another sip of her tea. “Papers are all in order, copies on the desk.” She reported without changing position or tone.

“Grant confessed…well, sorta,” he informed her. She nodded into another sip. “I spoke to Fitz.” She nodded again. “I didn’t tell him.”

“Probably for the best, it’s not a good time.”

“I didn’t think so. They haven’t found her yet. He asked for a lawyer.”

She snorted a nonverbal response.

“He thinks we’ll leave him.”

“We won’t”

“But that’s what he thinks.”

“He’s wrong.”

“He’s nine, Mel. That’s how he thinks.” She took a long drink of her tea, set the cup on the small table next to her and turned to face him.

“I know how old he is, Phil. Are you going to ask what happened?” She asked with a huff.

“Guess you read him the riot act. I think he knows he deserved it.”

“Does he?” 

Phil nodded and reached out to rub his hand along her arm. “He thinks you don’t like him.”

“Because I yelled at him…told him I wasn’t going to put up with his continued misbehavior…made him stay in his room all afternoon?” She was stunned. “I’m not apologizing,” she added quickly. “He was out of line, he did deserve it and...I really hope it doesn't happen again.”

They heard the telephone ring a few times and knew Mack would take care of whatever it was.

“Might be part of it, but I don’t think that’s all.” Phil gave a half smile. “He’s just not use to…” May’s eyebrows rose in anticipation. “To your…your…um…methods of a…well…” He smiled before continuing. “I know it gets a little…well, a lot actually…frustrating and really tough, but we’ll get through it. Baby steps…right…” He raised his eyebrows.

May rolled her eyes and shook her head before walking away from him.

“You think you could grant him parole and let him get some supper before Mack finishes it off.” 

May continued across the room and out the door with Phil close behind.

 

While Fitz sat enjoying his dinner and conversing with Jemma who politely avoid the topic of his chastisement, Mack filled in the Coulsons on the phone call he took earlier.

“They’ve got a body.” He told them. “Haven’t identified it yet but they’re pretty sure it’s her.”

“Grant got his deal.” May spat, hating the idea that the guy got anything.

“No,” Mack continued. “Couple of kids found it along the river. Police said someone tried to weigh it down, wrapped it in some carpet. Attached the weights to it but they were so heavy they tore through and it just floated up. Time of death puts it around the last time anyone saw…” He stopped in case the kids could hear. He looked toward the kitchen where they were giggling over some silly comment. “We’ll have to tell him.” He sighed.

“Not until we know for sure.” Phil stated then turned to May. “We’ll contact Bobbi and Hunter, get them started on the custody paperwork.”

 

Two days later the group gathered at the Simmons’ home to provide support not only for the little boy would learn his mother’s fate but for the man who would tell him. Phil’s mouth was dry despite the amount of water he’d consumed since he received the confirmation earlier in the day. There had been some discussion about sending Jemma to the pastor’s home while the deed was done, but they had decided she would need to know regardless and that she could and more than likely would provide more support and the more they could muster the better it might go.

After a lunch of pizza, which Hunter gleefully provided, and cold drinks, things took a serious turn. Once again the odd little group gathered in the parlor chatting about their exploits and plans, until an uncomfortable silence fell across the room. The large grandfather clock in the foyer ticked loudly in the quiet. It was Fitz who finally broke the stillness.

“I suppose you’re all here to give me the bad news.” He drew a deep shaky breath. “I think I already know…I think I knew in London when…” His voice cracked and he stopped knowing to say any more would break him.

Jemma covered a sob and turned into May’s hug, the loss of her own parents still a fresh wound.

“I’m sorry, Fitz.” Coulson comforted, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I wish we could have done better.”

“You’ve done your best.” The boy spoke slowly enunciating each word carefully while holding back the tears that built in his eyes. “It’s that feckin’ Grant that’s gone and put my maw in the ground.” He glanced quickly at May and balled his fists. He didn’t care that she had raised an eyebrow in warning. He didn’t care if she was angry or even if she took a tawse to his backside, he was angry too. Angry at James Grant for his lying and hurting and betraying his mother and for what he’d done to him and to Jemma…angry at himself for not saving his mother, for being too little and too weak to make a difference.

“Did…did he hurt her…did he k..k…” the tears fell freely now. 

“It’s okay, lad, let it go.” Hunter had moved to the boy’s side and placed an arm around him. Bobbie quickly swiped tears from her eyes.

Mack lowered his head and closed his eyes offering a silent prayer for the woman he had never met and the small boy he had come to love.

Melinda gently pushed Jemma into Bobbi’s embrace and moved to kneel in front of the boy who now wrestled with blind anger and heartbreak. She looked up at Phil and Hunter who stood at his sides. Reaching out slowly she took Fitz’ small fists into her hands and massaged them gently. 

“I didn’t know your mom, Fitz, but I bet she’d be proud of you.” She spoke quietly rubbing his hands as they slowly relaxed.

“She was my mom.” He sniffed and nodded to Melinda.

“Yes, she was.” The woman agreed.

“She loved me.” His voice cracked.

“With all her heart,” she agreed.

“I miss her.” He whispered as the emotion overtook him and he fell into Melinda’s arms. She stood picking him up and moved to the settee where she and Phil sat with the sobbing child and allowed him to cry until exhausted he fell asleep.

It took more than a month, a mountain of paperwork and help from every source they could tap but Leopold Fitz became the foster child of Phil Coulson and Melinda May in time to join them, Jemma and Mack as they boarded a plane bound for Washington, D.C. only three weeks after the start of the school year. For the adults it was a relief to be returning home, the children although apprehensive of what lay ahead, were excited to be off on a new adventure far from the tragedy and terror they had recently experienced. 

Bobbi and Hunter were more than settled in the new office, already planning and executing security services for more than ten new clients. James Grant was awaiting trial, for which the children would need to return, but he was no long a threat. Pastor Miller had planned a quiet service for Emilie Fitz and although it was heartbreaking it brought closure to a small boy whose life had been turned upside down. 

It was time to move on and everyone was more than ready to do so.


	9. Home Again....Safe at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Coulsons make it back to the US and find another youngster in need of a home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, this chapter redeems me.....
> 
> I apologize deeply to anyone who was offended by the last chapter, it was never my intent. It has been edited and parts rewritten. I only hope that contemporaries continue to read and comment as this moves along.
> 
> Again thank you for reading and taking time to let me know what you think

After an almost nine hour flight, another ninety minutes in customs and baggage in addition to explaining parents and children with passports from three different countries and then almost two hours in traffic, Phil pulled the rented SUV into the parking garage of their apartment building at 10:55 p.m. He turned off the ignition and laid his head back against the headrest. It would be so easy to just close his eyes and sleep right there. He could unpack the car in the morning. 

“We only have one bed.” Melinda’s voice was deep and sounded as tired as he felt.

“Poor planning,” he barely mumbled as he pushed himself forward and glanced in the rear view mirror at the two sleeping children in the back seat. “We could just spend the night right here in the car.”

Melinda let out a huff that might actually have been a small laugh. 

“Or,” he began around a yawn. “You can take one and I’ll get the other. The bags can wait til morning.” He turned his head toward her and smiled that goofy smile that always caused her to roll her eyes. They were closed as she rested her head, but he knew she rolled them.

She reached and unlatched the door without opening her eyes. “I’ll get Jemma.” She was already out of the car and opening the rear door before he unlatched his own.

After laying the children on their king-sized bed, slipping off their shoes and tucking them in Phil and Melinda collapsed on the couch. It was just past four a.m. when a loud rap on the door brought them to their feet.

Melinda ran to the bedroom checking on the children who still slept soundly. Phil flicked on a light and moved to the front door. Before he could look through the peephole a familiar voice laced with fear called out.

“Mr. C., Mr. C it’s me Trip.” He was keeping his voice low and apparently had his face pressed close to the door frame. “Mr. C.?” He knocked again and Phil pulled the door open catching the young teen before he fell into the apartment.

He pulled the boy up and closed the door, motioning for him to keep his voice low. Before Phil could ask, the boy spoke. “I’m really sorry Mr. C. I heard you guys come in before so I knew you were here.”

“And you wanted to welcome us home,” Phil ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. Melinda stepped back into the room giving a curt nod that meant all was well.

“What?” Trip squinted his eyes in confusion. “No…no, I think something’s wrong with my Gram. She fell after supper and she told me it was okay, but I…well…she falls asleep with the TV all the time but now I can’t wake her up.”

Melinda was already out the door and across the hall. Phil put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and told him to stay put. He joined his wife as she felt for Mrs. Triplett’s pulse. It was weak but she was alive. There was a large bruise on her forehead, apparently from the fall. Phil had already dialed 911 giving details to the operator as he kept eye contact with the teen standing wide-eyed in the opposite doorway.

 

Phil opened the door quietly and padded into his home. He set his keys in the small dish they kept on a shelf near the door. Pausing, he listened for any sign that the inhabitants had awakened, but heard only the soft clink of a spoon touching the sides of a teacup and headed for the kitchen. There he found May seated at the table still in the clothes she had left London in the day before. 

“Guess you didn’t get back to sleep,” he commented sheepishly as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of the nearest chair. He moved to the sink and turned on the water. “Hope we have coffee, because I really could use coffee.” He tipped the coffee canister, peered inside and sighed with relief as he scooped it into the basket, snapped on the top and plugged in the coffee pot. Yeah they had those automatic drip machines that gave you the black liquid in less time but he still used a percolator. It just tasted better.

“Still asleep, huh?” He tilted his chin toward the bedroom as he turned back toward his wife.

“Didn’t sleep on the plane, they’re exhausted.” May stated as she drew her cup to her lips and took a dainty sip. Phil nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gonna share?” She asked as she placed the cup in its matching saucer.

He thought about making a joke about her dislike for coffee but was just too tired. “The fall caused a bleed. They think it may have been a stroke. They’re testing to see how serious it was. She was awake for a bit…spoke to me before they took her off for whatever they were going to do.”

“Hmmm,” she nodded. “Where’s Trip?”

He hesitated for a moment, not sure how to tell her they’d soon have another young person to add to their growing brood. “He’s ahhh…across the hall…getting a few things.”

May had put the cup to her lips but put it down without drinking and glared at him. Her lips pulled so tight they were invisible.

“Come on, Mel,” He almost whined. “You can’t expect the kid to stay over there alone.”

She continued to glare.

“His grandmother begged me to make sure he was okay.”

Was it possible she narrowed her eyes even more?

“He’s a kid, May. It’ll only be a short time.”

She let out a huffed breath through her nose. He could tell by the set of her jaw she was clenching her teeth.

“Just until his grandmother…”

“We have a grandmother?” Jemma’s soft voice interrupted the one sided argument as she stepped barefoot into the kitchen. “Is this your home? It’s quite small,” she stopped as her eyes widened, “quite lovely, as well.”

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Phil smiled in a tone that really said ‘perfect timing!’. “Where’s Fitz, is he up too? You have a good sleep?” He babbled as he put a hand on the girl’s back and guided her to a chair. “How ‘bout I make you a nice breakfast? Pancakes?”

Jemma looked from Phil to Melinda and then back, clearly understanding the tension in the room. “Maybe, I should see if Fitz is awake.” She said hesitantly as she slowly rose from the seat Phil had given her.

“Nope, you’re fine.” Phil assured her placing his hands on both her shoulders to keep her in the chair. He smiled at Melinda over her head.

The woman maintained her stoic gaze, never breaking eye contact with her husband and causing him to inwardly cringe. A light tap on their front door gave him the escape he needed. Both Phil and Jemma’s heads turned toward the sound as a sock footed Fitz shuffled across the parlor rubbing one eye and yawning broadly. 

Fitz pulled open the door and stared at the tall dark-skinned teen standing in the hall. He blinked a few times coming fully awake. 

“Hey, little man,” the kid smiled revealing a mouthful of very straight gleaming white teeth. “I thought Mrs. C was bringing home a girl, but a little guy is way better.” He shifted the large duffle bag he was shouldering and thrust out his hand in greeting. “Antoine Triplett,” he introduced himself. “Most people call me Trip.”

The smaller boy’s mouth opened a bit. He took the offered hand and shook timidly.

“Gonna have to work on that grip, man.” The kid smiled again as he stepped inside and closed the door. Fitz moved aside. “Mr. C told me things’d be a little cramped, but this old couch and I are well acquainted.” He strode across the room and dropped his bag over the back of the large sofa that separated the parlor from the small foyer where Fitz still stood watching.

Coulson hurried into the room snatching the dropped bag and stashing it between the couch and the chair adjacent to it. He pushed it back a bit with one foot. “Hey, I see you guys are getting to know each other.” He clapped his hands together and looked from one boy to the other. Fitz blinked a few times and knit his eyebrows in confusion. Trip smiled wide and nodded.

“Little guy, doesn’t say much. I thought he was supposed to be a girl.” Trip laughed at his own joke.

“I say enough when it needs to be said.” Fitz protested. “And why would you think that I was a girl. Are you daft?”

“Wooo-eee, listen to the little bloke!” Trip laughed again imitating the boy’s Scottish brogue with friendly jest.

“Good morning, Trip,” Melinda had walked into the room with Jemma at her side.

The room fell quiet, everyone staring at anything other than looking May in the eye. Fitz swallowed the comment on his lips. Phil smiled wide and moved to block her view of the large bag he’d stashed. Jemma’s eyes were trained on Melinda, still confused by the entire situation.

“G’mornin’ Ms. C,” Trip grinned stepping toward the woman who stood like a statue. “I really appreciate ya…um, you lettin’ me crash here til my Gram gets back.” 

Phil closed his eyes and grit his teeth so hard it could almost be heard across the room and cast a side-long glance at his wife. Then felt a small hand slip into his own. “Perhaps, those pancakes would be a good idea.” Jemma smiled as she tugged him toward the kitchen.

May folded her arms over her chest and watched as they moved past her then swept one arm in the same direction silently telling the boys to join them.

 

With Trip’s help, the car was emptied of multiple pieces of luggage in record time. The kitchen was tidied and everyone showered and changed using the bathrooms of both the Coulson and Triplett apartments. The quiet tension between the two adults grew despite Phil’s attempt to keep everyone busy so when Trip suggested he take the ‘twins’ – as he now referred to Fitz and Jemma – to his grandmother’s apartment to teach them the ins and outs of Play Station, the Coulsons were quick to agree.

“We have two bedrooms and a small office, Phil were do you expect to put these kids?” May demanded with quiet intensity.

Phil was scanning the apartment the way he would when assessing a safe-house. “I suppose Trip could sleep in his own bed. He’d only be across the hall and he’s not really a kid…he could just come back if there…we could give him a key…” He was mumbling to himself.

Melinda rolled her eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, Phil. He’s not staying over there, all night, by himself.”

Phil paused and stared at her, a smile growing across his face. 

“Don’t say it,” she warned and he pulled in the smile growing serious again.

“We can clean out the office…put what we can in our room. “I know you planned on using the extra room for Jemma, but we’ll have to reassess our resources.” May rolled her eyes at the technical jargon. “We can put bunk beds in there for the boys and I’m sure once we clear out the other room we can put a small bed in there for Jemma.”

“Bunk beds?” 

“Well, yeah it’s kind of a guy thing…right of passage and all. A guy’s gotta have a bunk bed at least once in his life.”

Melinda smiled in spite of herself. She usually did when Phil reverted to his adolescent self. “It is just temporary. What’ll we do with it after?”

“Mel, you don’t have to have two kids to have a bunk bed.” He said it as if she was questioning the existence of the law of gravity and she knew if she rolled her eyes one more time they might just stay that way.

“You won’t need to do a thing.” He assured her noticing ‘the look’. “Trip will help and I’m sure Fitz can do a bit, too.” He paused for a moment as a thought struck him. “I’ll give Mack a call.”

“You do that.” Melinda turned up one side of her mouth and shook her head. “I’ll rescue Jemma and restock our pantry and the refrigerator. She moved to collect her bag and car keys as he picked up the phone and began to dial.

It took the rest of the weekend to clear out both rooms, purchase and transport new furniture and then set up rooms again. By Sunday night three kids were tubbed, scrubbed and sound asleep on brand new mattresses covered with new sheets, pillows and blankets. Mack passed out on the couch, spending the night rather than making the long drive home. 

Monday morning brought a call from the hospital. Mrs. Triplett had indeed suffered a mild stroke and would require hospitalization as well as rehab afterward. Coulson spoke at length with the doctors explaining that the woman had no relatives other than her fourteen year old grandson. Luckily, the woman was well enough to give permission for her neighbor to care for the boy while she spent time regaining her strength. She also had the presence of mind to allow the doctors to discuss her medical report with the Coulsons. At the least Trip might spend three months with them, at the most it could be a year. Thus began a very busy Monday. Phil decided Trip would miss a day of school, spending time with his grandmother to alleviate the boy’s worries. He’d drop Trip at the hospital and pick him up after he and his Gram had supper together. 

Melinda was not happy, but not heartless. Trip was a good kid. He worked hard and stayed out of trouble. His grandmother never had trouble with the boy. But a teenager…with all the bag and baggage of puberty…lovely, just what she needed. Two traumatized kids and a pubescent ninth grader…she fought the feeling of being overwhelmed. Despite now being parents of three, regardless of how temporary that might be, Trip’s transition into the family was seamless. 

At their first sit-down supper together, it was Trip who bowed his head and reached out to take the hands of the two children seated next to him. A rather surprised Phil and Melinda followed suit. The boy was quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts as well as his emotions before he began in a tone that sounded very much like a television evangelist. The couple avoided eye contact and bowed their heads to keep from snickering.

“We thank you Lord, for this fine food and these fine people who opened up their home not just to me but these two little ones as well,” he smiled at Phil with a quick sideways glance. His grandmother had said those same words as they left her room earlier in the day. “Now, just give us your guidance, Lord and help keep us all together, healthy and safe. Amen.” 

Everyone dropped their hands and stopped for a moment considering the boy's words. “That was very nice, Trip. Thank you.” Melinda nodded toward him. 

She wasn’t used to saying any kind of grace. It hadn’t been a part of growing up in her family. Phil nodded as well swallowing the sudden memory of his father saying grace before every meal, something he and his mom rarely did after losing him. He never really understood why.

“Okay, Fitz-Simmons, dig in, cuz after this we are going to my place for a Mario Marathon,” he looked quickly from Phil to May and back. “Um, that is with your permission.” 

“Fitzsimmons?” Phil asked with a smile.

“Cool, huh?” The boy smiled around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Fitz,” he pointed to the boy with the tip of his fork then turned to his other side and jutted his thumb out at the little girl, “Simmons.” He smiled again. “Fitz-Simmons, get it? Even their names go together. Man, this is some family you got.” He shook his head, smiled and dug into his dinner.

And there you have it, four months ago they were childless, their only responsibility was their business and their bills. Today they were the parents of three.


	10. Picky, Picky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Jemma prepare to enter school, but not without a picky situation

Picky, Picky

Jemma and Fitz had to be registered for elementary school. Transfers from one school to another were hard enough, state to state was even harder, international was a nightmare. Custody papers, medical records, school records, mountains of paperwork for two children from two different countries needed to be reviewed. Both had to be assessed and grade placements had to be arranged. They hadn’t even decided on a school. Melinda opted for the private sector arguing that it would be more familiar to the kids while Phil felt that public school would help them adjust to their new lifestyle faster. 

Assessments on both children showed them in the highest percentiles. It was suggested that they attend a private school that could meet the abilities of gifted individuals. The woman at the school administration office gave them several pamphlets for such facilities. She also pointed out that the children’s medical records showed they were missing some of the required immunizations and therefore could not enter any of the schools public or private until they were complete. 

What else could possibly happen? 

It was two weeks and the children had still not started school. Not that it seemed to matter to them. Jemma had discovered the local library was a mere block from the apartment (with some help from Trip) procured an application and had it completed, signed and returned in a matter of hours. With card in hand she checked out four large books on subjects Melinda could barely pronounce and happily spent the day reading and re-reading each. 

While Fitz would have been more than happy with his new found skill at Dragon Ball and pretty much any and every other game on Trip’s PlayStation, he’d also found a box of what the older boy referred to as thing-a-ma-jigs. With the tool box he’d also smuggled out of the basement storage room he spent hours tinkering with wires and switches in order to create what ever it was he was making. He didn’t have a name for it yet, but he would…when he figured out exactly what it could do. The first one kind of exploded when he flipped the switch. The bang wasn’t too loud but it sure made a mess and Phil warned him not to try it again, too dangerous he said. Fitz just figured it was trial and error. Next time he’d flip the switch somewhere other than the bathroom.

Now both sat quietly waiting while Melinda spoke with the secretary at the administration office. This was the third time they’d been there. The woman at the desk smiled kindly and patted May’s hand before handing her a list of what was needed for the children to finally enter the school system. The chief school nurse had reviewed all of the records transferred from Sheffield and Busby. She found that Jemma was missing two doses of varicella vaccine and Fitz’ records were haphazard. He was missing many immunizations. His records were incomplete and it was unsure whether that meant he did not have the inoculations or his mother just did not keep a proper record of them.

Melinda was exasperated. Would it be wise to place the kids in private school instead of public school where they would have what Phil considered a ‘normal’ education? Was it fair to them to place them in a situation that would not meet their needs? This parenting thing was way more than she asked for and definitely way past what she needed. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a soft sigh. “I know it’s a lot to take in, Mrs. Coulson.” The secretary smiled sympathetically. “Your doctor should have no trouble with the documentation Mrs. Rosario put together for you.” 

“Shit,” Melinda grumbled under her breath. Now on top of choosing a school she had to find a pediatrician that would take new patients transferring international records. She hadn’t even considered that, after all these kids were healthy weren’t they? She could probably just call her own doctor. They didn’t have to have pediatrician, did they? They weren’t babies. A GP would be fine. She glanced over her shoulder and immediately forgot all about schools and doctors…the bench was empty…the kids were gone.

Turning away from the secretary who was still talking, she hurried to the seat she had specifically told them not to leave until she was finished with this business. She looked left and right down the hallway and saw neither of them. ‘I really need this,’ she told herself as she took a deep breath and tried to swallow the annoyance that was rapidly becoming fury.

“I told you that was not very wise.” Fitz’ voice came from a room at the end of the hall. 

“I just wanted to see.” Jemma’s voice spoke back.

Melinda narrowed her eyes and followed the sound, making her way to open door. She found both children standing in the middle of a small office staring at a large poster of some child covered a horrendous rash.

“That’s what you look like with chicken pox, Fitz. Isn’t it amazing?” Jemma was in awe.

Fitz made a gagging motion that almost caused Melinda to laugh. “Quite disgusting if you ask me. Come on then, let’s get back before we’re mis…” He turned to see a very stern May standing in the doorway.

“Did you two not understand what I said?” She asked in a way that said she knew they did.

“You were taking much too long and we were quite bored.” Jemma explained matter-of-factly. “I saw the nurse’s office and thought we might find something interesting.” 

“I told you to stay put.” The woman said through clenched teeth. “Now let’s go.” She stepped aside so they could pass into the hallway but neither moved. “Well?” She waited for a response.

“Well…you see,” Fitz smiled. “You said stay put and then let’s go…so what exactly…”

“Move!” she ordered casting a glance toward the door and both hurried to comply. May rolled her eyes. ‘Just what I need,’ she thought, ‘mini-Phil’

 

As it turned out Melinda and Phil’s doctor had a colleague in the same group that practiced pediatrics and he was more than happy to recommend the kids as new patients. Two days later Jemma had received her first vaccination which she discussed at length with the very impressed young doctor. Fitz was not so impressed and even less so when he was led away for a blood test that Jemma begged to watch. With any luck they’d find he had the missing immunizations otherwise, the doctor explained, they could safely start the immunization schedule even if he did have them.

“I don’t like being poked.” The boy pouted.

“Oh it isn’t that bad, Fitz.” Jemma turned her princess band-aid covered shoulder toward him. “Look at the lovely bandage.” She smiled as he rolled his eyes.

Phil met the trio at a nearby ice cream parlor as a reward for a successful first visit to Dr. Stephens. Jemma bubbled with excitement and filled him in on everything she’d learned about her immunization and about Fitz’ adverse reaction to his little pinch for a blood test. Fitz merely sat staring at his strawberry sundae and hoping Phil would not notice he’d been crying. Melinda promised not to tell. He didn’t want Phil or Trip, especially Trip, to think he was a nipper.

 

The next week was a flurry of activity as Mrs. Triplet was moved to a long term rehab facility, Trip found an after school job at a local bodega (for some reason the kid thought he had to earn his keep) and after several scouting visits a private school was chosen for the ‘twins’ as they were now being called by everyone. The school was in Bethesda, an area they seriously had considered looking for a home when they thought they’d need more than one or two bedrooms. It was a topic for deep discussion once everything else was settled…if that day ever came. Both Phil and Melinda started or ended many conversations with the phrase ‘when things get back to normal’ and then laugh at themselves, apparently this was normal.

 

Three days later Dr. Stephens asked Melinda to meet her at the clinic where she volunteered twice a month. She had the results of Fitz’ blood work and she could finish Jemma’s inoculations as well. It was a bit longer drive but it brought them closer to a final solution. They arrived a few minutes after the clinic opened. Melinda hoped to get through it as quickly as possible, then spend the day collecting school supplies and sizing two squirming nine-year-olds for uniforms. 

Apparently every parent with every screaming child had the same idea. Melinda groaned as she marched into the waiting area holding each child by the hand. She resisted throwing her head back and exploding as she stepped over a wailing toddler and around a child whose nose ran with the most repulsive mucus she had the unfortunate luck to witness. She turned quickly, hoping that Fitz hadn’t seen. No need to race to a restroom as soon as they entered. Relief flooded over her as the receptionist pointed her toward another door and told her the doctor would see her immediately. 

The news was good and although Dr. Stephens was a bit harried she took the time to explain that the test showed Fitz showed immunities to most diseases with the exception of varicella. With that and a few boosters he’d be caught up completely. She assured May that the school would accept him into the program with the understanding he would stay on schedule. They would complete Jemma’s shots today and start Fitz on his way. A young nurse entered the room with a tray before the doctor was finished speaking.

“Okay then,” Dr. Stephens closed the file she was holding. “Natalie will get you done and you’ll just stop at the desk to pick up your immunization records for school.” She smiled at the children and shook Melinda’s hand. “You can schedule your next office visit as well. I apologize again for having you come all the way out here, but I know how much you want to get this completed.”

Nurse Natalie smiled at the children. “Okay, who’d like to go first?” 

Fitz took a step back as Jemma immediately rolled up her sleeve and began asking question after question. May simply smiled and shook her head moving to place a supportive hand on Fitz’ shoulder. He looked up at her with the gaze of a condemned man. She stifled a laugh.

“All done,” Natalie announced as she placed a band-aid on Jemma’s shoulder. Jemma smiled broadly. “You’re up, buddy.” She smiled at Fitz and motioned for him to step closer. The boy swallowed hard and stepped behind May. “Come on, it’s not so bad. I’m very good at this and I’ll be so quick you won’t even notice.”

Fitz ducked his chin and looked at her over his furrowed eyebrows. “That is impossible.” He mumbled sarcastically.

May reached around and pulled him forward escorting him to Natalie and helping to roll up his sleeve. The nurse rubbed his shoulder with alcohol as he watched, then squeezed his eyes shut when she picked up the hypodermic. 

“You can open your eyes now.” Natalie smiled as she ruffled his curly hair. “One more and we’re done.”

Fitz’ eyes went wide as his mouth dropped open. “Two?” He stepped back bumping into May who still stood behind him. 

“Well you are a bit more behind than your sister.” Natalie informed him.

“Come on, Fitz, let’s just do it.” Melinda began rolling up the sleeve on his opposite arm stopping when the nurse cleared her throat and shook her head.

“I’m afraid this one has to go in a large muscle.” She raised her brows and shrugged apologetically.

Jemma gasped softly and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Fitz she means to give you a shot in the b…”

Melinda stopped her with a glare but could tell by the look on the boy’s face that he already had a pretty good idea of what was happening. He shook his head and backed against his foster mom.

Melinda stepped into the hall with a smiling Jemma and grumpy Fitz in tow. It took her, Natalie and a young aid more than a few minutes to ‘help’ the boy get through the trauma of his second inoculation which was given in his thigh, much to everyone’s relief. Jemma had been excused to the hall to wait out the process, much to her dismay.


	11. She Has My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May takes the 'twins' to the clinic for immunizations and loses a piece of her heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work with very young children and while I can hear their pronunciations I have a heck of a time spelling them...so I apologize for the difficulty in reading some of the odd language that follows

Melinda was more mentally exhausted than she thought she could be as she made her way to the exit-receptionist relieved that this office was quieter and calmer than the first. She dropped the children’s hands long enough to sign forms the receptionist slid to her. She was midway through a sigh of relief as she turned to gather her duo and get out when a small force slammed into her lower legs and wrapped itself securely around her. The children stepped back and away and she quickly reached back and grabbed the edge of the counter to keep her balance.

“Helep me, pleece!” The tiny human cried without looking up at her.

“What in the…” Melinda looked down at the dark head a few inches above her knees. The little one was clad in nothing more than an over-sized T-shirt and mismatched socks.

“There you are,” another nurse, a bit older and a lot sterner than Natalie, marched around the corner toward them.

A tear streaked little face looked up at May. “Doun let hoer take me. She hoerts me.” May knit her brows and looked to the nurse who was shaking her head.

“She pulls this every time she comes in, quite a drama-queen this one.” She reached down and attempted to extract the small body from May’s legs but the little girl slid around behind without losing her grip. Fitz and Jemma had backed up against the opposite wall and Jemma covered the giggle that was about to escape. “Let go, Skye, this isn’t going to help at all.” The woman urged through clenched teeth which only resulted in the little one digging her nails into May’s legs.

“Stop,” she warned as calmly as she could. She dug her own nails into the nurse’s shoulder and pulled her to stand. “What,” she let out a frustrated sigh and moved to balance herself. “What is the problem?”

The nurse pushed an errant hair out of her face and blew a disgusted sigh. “She’s here for a routine booster. I’m afraid she’s not very cooperative.” She started to squat down again ready to pull the child away.” 

Melinda stopped her holding out a hand and then reached down to smooth the other over the little one’s head. Carefully she reached down and slipped her hands under the little girl’s arms and easily lifted her into her own. The child wrapped her arms around May’s neck and held tight. “Doun gimme hoer. Keep me.” She buried her face in May’s collar and whimpered softly.

The nurse shook her head and reached for the child again, but Melinda turned away. “No, no…I’ve got her and I’m keeping her.” She was tired and just wanted this to end. If giving this little imp what she wanted moved things along, she could do that.

Two sets of eyebrows rose in surprise as they watched the scene unfold. Melinda pulled the back of the child’s T-shirt down to cover her and attempted to get the little one to pick up her head. “Okay, then you tell me what the problem is.” She waited until the small head came up and looked in her eye.

“I doun wanno mower needoes. They awees shot me heeo and they say it doun hoert, but it do.” The little girl rambled between sniffles. She pulled the neck of her shirt up to wipe her nose and eyes.

“I see,” Melinda answered gently. “And you think I can help? Why?” She smiled at the little face just a few inches from her own. 

The child tilted her head to one side and stated simply, “cuz”.

“That’s not an answer.” Melinda informed her still speaking softly and resting her forehead against the child’s, but now following the nurse back toward the examination room. Jemma and Fitz followed close behind watching the exchange between their foster mom and this new little person. 

“I like you.” The child whispered shyly still staring in May’s face with a quizzical scowl.

“You don’t know me. Hasn’t your mama told you not to speak to strangers?” May replied staring back in the little girl’s deep brown eyes that held too much sadness for one so young. 

“I doun has a mama, just a sisser.” The little girl replied without emotion. She continued studying May’s face.

They stepped inside the small room and the nurse closed the door softly. An older woman sat in a chair in the corner; she smiled kindly and nodded toward them as a look of relief crossed her face. ‘Grandmother,’ May thought, ‘probably not the best person to send with this little spitfire.’

“NO!” The little girl shrieked realizing she was back in the room from which she had escaped. “NO!” She buried her head in May’s neck and once again wrapped herself tightly around her. 

“Hey, hey, look at me,” May encouraged. “Look at me.” The little head slowly rose but her grip did not lessen. May held up a hand to the nurse who stood with hypodermic in hand. “You know when I was a little girl I didn’t like needles either.” 

The child shook her head and sniffled, wiping her nose on her shoulder. “Did ju vun fast?”

May stifled a laugh. “No, I didn’t run anywhere. My momma and I had a special way to stop the needle from hurting.” The child’s eyebrows rose and May nodded. “Do you want me to show you?” She looked past the child to the older woman who nodded her permission. “You need to let go a little bit and stand here on the table.”

“Like dis,” the child asked as she let go and stood on the examination table facing May.

“Just like that, but a little closer to me.” The little girl stepped closer. “Now you put your head right here,” May patted her chest above her heart and tell me when you hear something.

The child complied and grew quiet. “I heero you hawt beeping.”

May smiled. “Okay now wrap your arms around me and I’ll put my arms here and here.” May placed one hand on the girl’s ear and the other just around her thighs. “Good girl, now can you say ‘Āiyō’?” The child sniggered then repeated the word. “Very nice.” May was impressed at the child’s pronunciation of the mandarin word for ‘ouch’. She looked to the nurse who held up two fingers indicating there were two inoculations on the tray. She rolled her eyes and took a breath. “Okay, bǎo bǎo, you close your eyes and listen to my heart and feel my breath. We’ll breath together like this, in…out…in…out.” May continued until the child’s breathing was in rhythm with her own. She made eye contact with the nurse. “Now, I’m going to count to three and we are going to say Āiyō as loud as we can until I tell you to stop. Got it?”

“Goddit,” the muffled little voice answered. 

May looked at the nurse who stood armed and ready and began counting, “one…two…THREE!” On three the little girl screamed the mandarin word as loud as she could into May’s chest as the woman repeated it with her until the nurse had quickly injected her twice then backed away.

May gave one last shout and pulled the little one out to look at her. “All done,” she smiled.

The nurse, who remained nameless as she picked up her tray and exited the room, shook her head. “Drama queen…just what she needed…wait’ll next time.” She mumbled as she left.

The woman who sat quietly through the performance rose and stepped toward the table. She held out the little girl’s clothing helping her to step into it. The child sat down so the woman could put on her shoes. All the while she kept her eyes trained on May and when finished she stood again on the table and reached up to run her fingers over the woman’s eyes. She placed her tiny hands on May’s cheeks and stared.

“You gots eyes juss like me.” She smiled as she rubbed her fingers over her own eyes. 

May smiled and looked carefully at the little face. She did indeed have deep brown Asian eyes, yet she suspected the little one was of mixed race. She nodded at the older woman who was visibly Caucasian. “Your granddaughter is quite a handful.” She ran her hand over the little girl’s shoulder length jet-black hair. ‘Beautiful, too,’ she mused, wondering what had happened to the child’s mother and was there a father or was grandma her caregiver. 

The woman shook her head, picking up the little girl and resting her on her hip. “Oh, Skye is not my granddaughter. We’re from St. Agnes.” At May’s confused expression she continued. “St. Agnes Orphanage, we bring the children here for medical services. I’m sorry for your trouble but there are times when Skye is just a bit too much for me, but she is truly a sweet child.” The woman smiled as she picked up the child and put her on the floor. “Say thank you to the nice lady, Skye.”

Skye blinked a few times and wiped her arm across her eyes. “Tank you,” she sighed as the woman set her on the floor, took her hand and started toward the door. The little girl turned back and gave a small wave. Melinda waved back and tried to release the knot around her heart as the door closed.

 

Supper was a quiet event that evening. Fitz complained a little about the pains in his arm and leg until Jemma silenced him with a frown and shake of her head. He wasn’t going to give her the chance to call him a cry-baby. Trip was more exhausted than he thought bagging groceries for two hours could make a person. Phil attempted a bit of his dad-humor with silly jokes and dumb stories but gave up after a few too many groans. Melinda merely watched her brood and contemplated her morning experience. Phil caught her eye and she smiled.

“What happened to the little girl?” Jemma asked as she pushed her vegetables around on her plate.

“You need to eat, Jemma, not rearrange your food.” Melinda scolded. The girl gave a small pout and nibbled on a green bean. 

“What did happen to her?” Fitz begged the question a second time.

“What little girl?” Phil asked as Trip yawned widely.

“There was a little naked girl holding on to Aunt Mel’s legs at the doctor’s office.” Jemma started, dropping the bean back to her plate. 

“She was not naked.” Melinda corrected.

“Well most of her was,” Fitz added.

“Fitz,” she warned, raising one eyebrow.

The boy lowered his head. “Well she was…” He mumbled.

“There was a half-naked girl on your leg?” Phil tried to control his amusement.

“She was a baby.” May deadpanned before regaling the story.

 

May tossed herself to her side and tugged at the blanket then lifted her head and rearranged her pillow for about the tenth time since she’d fallen into bed.

“You want to talk about it.” Phil’s groggy voice came from the other side of the mattress.

“About what?” May huffed, punching the pillow again.

Phil rolled over to face the back of May’s head. “Whatever it is that’s keeping you up more than usual…I mean usually you aren’t beating up the pillows all night.” He spoke with his eyes closed and twirled a finger in her hair.

She rolled toward him brushing his hand away. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Who?” His voice was so sleepy she was sure he wouldn’t hear.

“That baby was so sad, so alone. Every time I close my eyes I see that little face. What is wrong with me?”

“Hormones?” He mumbled. She slapped the top of his head bringing him fully awake. They stared across the few inches that separated them. 

“She was so little and so scared, Phil.”

“And you helped her and she was okay when she left. That’s what you said, right.”

“Yeah, I supposed.”

“Then you did what you could.” He stretched over and kissed her cheek.

“I supposed.”

Phil propped his head on his hand, elbow resting on the pillow as May rolled onto her back. “I don’t think four kids will fit in this apartment.”

“What?” She turned to him quickly. “Is that…do you think…I…”

“Melinda May,” Coulson smiled as he reached out to brush her hair from her face. “I have never heard you stumble over your words.”

She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. “She’s so little.” She whispered again.

“Hey, what’s one more?” He smiled as he pulled her into his arms and closed his eyes.

Melinda rested against his chest, listening to his heart beat. “One more,” she whispered.


	12. I'd Love You to Want Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on for this little family, but Melinda senses there's something missing...

Phil said nothing about their conversation and Melinda did not bring it up again, thinking he probably didn’t even remember. He’d been so tired. They hustled Jemma and Fitz off to their new school, met with new teachers and made transportation arrangements. Life fell into a bumpy routine of bus stops, lunch packing, homework, and bed times. Mrs. Triplet continued to improve each day and Phil made it a point to take Trip to visit twice a week and all day on Sunday. May returned to work when the kids joined after school science clubs and Trip started basketball practice. But the memory of the little girl with the dark almond shaped eyes continued to haunt her.

Twice May looked up the number and address of St. Agnes’ Orphanage and sent out a few feelers in an attempt to gain information. She found it to be run by the Sisters of IHM and had been founded in the late 1920’s. In its early days most of the children lived there until they were old enough to take a job or live on their own. Now it was more of a facility Children Services used for children waiting for foster care services or those who needed temporary care due to family difficulties. She could only imagine what those difficulties might be and she pictured little Skye as the child of some stoned streetwalker who left her alone for hours…days at a time. In her mind, she envisioned a dirty face Skye with a runny nose in clothes that didn’t fit or keep her warm, crying for a mother that wasn’t there and wouldn’t be there anytime soon. She tried and failed to shake off the thought. Skye lost among the other children living together in a broken down building managed by elderly women who had never been and never would be mothers. Skye crying herself to sleep without being tucked in or kissed goodnight…that thought haunted her every night as she tucked in her little brood and kissed each one twice and then again – one for Skye. 

It couldn’t be that bad; she told herself on days when her brain was so overloaded she felt it would explode. These women were trained to take care of these children, weren’t they? It wasn’t like an eighteenth century novel or some melodramatic made for television movie, but her thoughts went there anyway. What else did she know of orphanages or the foster system or babies left on doorsteps in the middle of the night? The more she thought about it the worse the thoughts became until she could barely think of anything more.

The Sisters of St. Agnes currently cared for about thirty-five children between the ages of newborn and twelve, after that the children went to group homes scattered throughout the city. May seriously considered visiting, just to see how things were run…was it clean…were the children happy…were the Sisters kind? Visions of Oliver Twist and Annie played with the pictures in her mind and she shook away the warped Hollywood/Dickens version of orphans. Every news report on an abandoned or abused child, every mention of some parent neglecting or mistreating a child brought that little face into view. She tried to put it out of her head, tried not to think about it but after two weeks, it became so intense that Phil could no longer take the stress or the sleepless nights.

“So, how’s practice?” Phil asked as he passed a basket of bread to Trip at the supper table. The boy smiled and went into an elaborately detailed story of the day’s session. Phil nodded and smiled, never being much of a sports nut himself but he did enjoy listening to Trip’s animated tales and of course, the entire family enjoyed the games they attended, cheering on their favorite player. He wasn’t quite sure Fitz understood the whole concept but the little guy was great at cheering on the team.

Jemma took a turn at regaling them with her tales of the latest experiments the science club had been working on during the week. Phil really didn’t understand much of what the little girl said but he nodded and smiled with the same enthusiasm as he had given Trip. 

Fitz boasted that he had finally found enough wire and thing-a-ma-jigs in his box of junk to create a third controller for Trip’s PlayStation and convinced Phil to try it after supper. 

Throughout the children’s sharing and Phil’s enjoyment in their stories, Melinda remained quiet, distant…staring off in her own private world. She’d smile or nod a bit if asked an opinion or if the others were laughing, but Phil was fairly sure she hadn’t heard a word anyone had said. He’d spoken directly to her several times in the last few minutes and gotten no response. The chatter at the table dissolved into silence as the children stared at the woman who simply sat twisting her fork in a twirl of spaghetti and staring.

“Mel,” Phil smiled at the children as he spoke to her. “You’re going to drill a hole through your plate.” His voice was soft and calm.

“Sure,” she answered without looking at him. Jemma and Fitz giggled softly and waited for their foster father to continue.

“Mel,” Phil continued to tease. “I don’t think we’re insured for that.”

She smiled, “yep,” and continued to twirl her fork although there were no noodles turning with it.

“Did you hear…Jemma’s science club has been selected to accompany the next Space Shuttle? She’s going to captain the whole mission.” Jemma covered the giggle that escaped her.

“That’s good.” The woman smiled.

Phil was having a hard time holding back his laughter. Trip and Fitz were almost rolling on the floor. “Yes and I’ve decided to let Fitz keep working on that firecracker robot thing…you know the one that blew up in the bathroom.”

The fork stopped twirling as Melinda’s gaze met Phil’s. “Not in this lifetime,” she half growled-half smiled. 

“Gotcha,” He smiled back and laughing at her lopsided grin.

For a few minutes, everyone enjoyed the joke until Phil asked. “What were you thinking about?” He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or concerned. She brushed it off with a quick ‘nothing’ and continued enjoying her dinner.

“She’s probably still wondering about the little naked girl.” Fitz stated calmly around a bite of bread.

“Yes,” Jemma agreed, “the one with eyes like Aunt Mel’s.”

Phil looked at his wife who looked away avoiding his gaze. “Maybe we should hash this out a bit. I mean what’s one more?” She raised her eyes and smiled.

Melinda explained how she had been thinking about the little girl since that day in the clinic and wondered how she was doing and if she was okay. She looked around the table at her growing family and wondered if it would be fair to them to add ‘just one more’. 

“Why don’t we call the foundling home?” Jemma proposed. “Maybe they would let us visit.”

“Or she could visit with us,” Fitz added. “She is a wee little thing. She canna take that much space.”

“It’d even up the score, Mrs. C,” Trip threw in, “two boys…two girls.” He smiled his broad smile. “Besides, I think I’d like to meet this little girl.”

Phil smiled and reached over to squeeze May’s hand. “I think it’s unanimous. We’ll make some calls on Monday.” 

 

Monday was a rather large disappointment for the family when Melinda finally called the office at St. Agnes. The director, Sr. Daniel Mary, was pleasant enough and agreed to meeting with the Coulsons but Skye had left the orphanage two days earlier having secured a foster placement with a family outside of the city. The woman could not give her any more information. 

May was heartbroken but at the same time happy that the little girl had a family and a new home. She did her best to keep busy and forget about it, until the weekend of the annual school flea market.

Trip and the ‘twins’ talked about it for weeks. Apparently all of the schools in the metro area collected what they could and hosted a large Flea Market that benefited local charities for the holidays. “Mostly they buy Christmas gifts for kids who wouldn’t get any.” Trip explained. “They help out families with food and whatever they need to get through the winter.”

The following Saturday morning the makeshift family gathered their donation boxes and traveled to the large auditorium to drop off their contributions. They walked in, each carrying a parcel and were directed to an area where they could check them in for distribution. The hall was filled with tables and vendors that included foods usually seen only at summer carnivals and fairs, such as funnel cakes and candy apples. The aroma filled the hall and the kids begged to check out each stand. Melinda usually vetoed junk food, but hell this was for a good cause. A little bit wouldn’t hurt, besides Phil worst culprit and the most difficult to keep away from all that temptation.

Fitz made his way toward his new favorite food…hot dogs and smacked his lips at the little red sausages revolving on a small spit. Phil and Trip joined him as Melinda and Jemma stepped toward a small table filled with homemade jewelry. They made their way around the perimeter of the auditorium sampling homemade goods and purchasing a few small trinkets. Against the farthest wall was a small stand that sold beverages and Welsh Cookies, one of Phil’s favorites. He headed for the stand hoping to sample a few before purchasing a dozen to take home and maybe another dozen, or two, for the office. 

May noticed him heading that way and made an attempt to head him off, they’d all consumed enough junk to last for a very long time. She almost reached his side when a small body crashed into her wrapping familiar skinny arms around her legs and yelling, “hi, lady! Āiyō!”

“SKYE! You come back here this instant!” An older woman called out from behind the table.

Phil looked over his shoulder and smiled at the sight. Trip strode over dragging Jemma and Fitz behind him. “Hey, that’s the wee one from the physician’s office.” Fitz announced. “And she’s got all her clothes.”

When looking back at the moment, May would never find the right words to describe the feeling that came over her, but she knew in that second that her heart dissolved. The feeling took her breath away. She bent to scoop the little girl into her arms. She was surprised to see the child and wondered if the new foster parents had come to the fair, but Skye was wearing that same T-shirt. Maybe it was her favorite. So many thoughts ran through Melinda's mind she could barely make sense of them, except the one that said she was overjoyed at seeing this little person again. “I’m so sorry.” The woman breathlessly apologized as she took Skye’s hand and pulled her away. “Oh, you’re the woman from the clinic.” She recognized May. “Yes,” Melinda smiled a sad smile, having lost the chance to snatch the child up, and offered her hand. “I’m Melinda May, this is my husband Phil Coulson and,” she turned toward the trio behind them, “And this is our family.” The woman nodded and held on to the squirming Skye with both hands. “How do you do, I’m Sister Mary Clare and well, you’ve already met Skye.” Melinda nodded. “Your turn to watch her again?” Secretly she wished the little girl would escape the nun’s grip so she could run into her arms. Sr. Mary Clare smiled. “Skye and I spend a lot of time together. She tends to exasperate the other sisters.” The little girl leaned against the woman and looked up at her never standing still. “We gots lotsa cookies.” She pointed at the table. “You wanna buy some?” Phil smiled and squatted down to the child’s level. “These are my absolute favorite. Did you bake all of them?” Skye giggled. “Ine too liddle.” “Naw,” Phil scrunched up his nose and placed his hand at the child’s level as if measuring her. “I think you are just right.” He turned and smiled at Melinda. Skye had taken Phil’s hand and was leading him toward the table babbling as they went. Phil nodded and commented at intervals. Melinda smiled and looked at the small nun at her side. “She is a handful. Exasperates the other sisters, hmmm?” Sister Mary Clare laughed a bit. “They lose patience with her rather quickly. I guess that’s why we spend so much time together. She does tire me out, I must admit, but she is a sweet child and she makes me laugh.” They both watched as Phil chuckled at something the little girl had said or done. She reached up and he obliged lifting her into his arms and biting into the cookie she offered. Her gleeful giggle reached them as she reacted to the goofy face he made in response. “I’ve been caring for her off and on since she was, well since we found her.” Sr. Mary Clare frowned a bit as she explained and hurried to change the subject. “Your children…” she began, smiling, “they’re adopted.” May gave a quick nod and smiled back as they walked toward the table. Trip and the kids had joined Phil and all were laughing, probably over one of the man’s silly stories. “Not yet,” May told her. “It’s been a little wild the last few months.” She continued sharing the stories of her three young wards. “You and your husband are very special, opening you home and your hearts to these little ones. They are lucky to have you.” Melinda merely smiled as the older woman took her hand and patted it gently. “I guess some things are meant to be.” It was a term she’d heard many times throughout her life…when her parents divorced…when she and Phil found they could not have children of their own. It placated people who had no explanation for what was. She never thought herself to be one of them. “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” the sister grinned. “Makes sure you are where you need to be so things just fall neatly into place.” Before Melinda could respond, Jemma and Fitz were excitedly hopping in front of her. “Aunt Mel, there are games and prizes! May we try a few, please?” Jemma begged with Fitz nodding. “Phil said we need to ask you. He says you are the boss.” Fitz added almost out of breath. She looked toward Coulson. He stood near the table still holding Skye as he shrugged his shoulders and grinned. She looked again at the growing crowd. “I don’t know…” “Please, Aunt Mel, pleeeeeeeezzzzzz…” the ‘twins’ whined in harmony. “I’ll keep an eye on them.” Trip smiled as he stepped behind them, placing one hand on each of their shoulders. He too was eager to escape the adult chatter and have a little fun. Jemma and Fitz nodded quickly. May raised her brows as Phil stepped closer. “I don’t know guys, there’s an awful lot of people here…” He started. “We’ll be good. We’ll listen. We’ll stay with Trip. Please, please, please.” It was just eerie how the two younger children could say the same thing at the same time with such ease. “Me too, me too!” Skye squealed wriggling from Phil’s arms and hurrying to stand with the others. “I play games witchu too.” “Oh, no little one, you’ll stay right here with me.” The nun tsked reaching for the little girl who quickly side stepped her and scrambled behind Trip. He laughed as he turned and scooped her up. “Girl! You are a feisty little one, aren’t ya?” He smiled at Melinda. “S’okay, Ms C, I got this.” He smiled broadly and tickled the little girl’s tummy. “You can trust her with this guy.” Phil placed a friendly slap on the boy’s shoulder as he handed him enough cash to keep them happily engaged in games for at least an hour. “You,” he pointed a finger at Fitz’ nose. “You stay close and do as you’re told.” The boy smiled and nodded as they turned to leave. After a long conversation (while Trip did a fine job at entertaining the little ones) the Coulson’s had more information on the little girl that had somehow wriggled her way into both their hearts. Phil looked at the tyke and saw the child he and Melinda dreamed of not so many years ago. Melinda saw a baby that needed a mother and something told her she was a mother that needed a baby. Sr. Mary Clare recounted how Skye had been left on the steps of the orphanage with very little information. She couldn’t have been more than a month old, the sister told them. There was no note, and even after a somewhat half-hearted investigation not even the police had been able to find a trace of the person who left her. They waited the required amount of time and Skye was made a ward of the state, meaning she had no family and yes was eligible for adoption. Normally it was easy to place an infant, but little Skye suffered from colic and was inconsolable most of the day and night. There were times when she cried so hard and so long that the young sisters caring for her would cry as well. A doctor had suggested they place her seat atop the dryer and turn it on, reasoning that the soft hum and gentle bumping would have a soothing effect. It worked for approximately ten minutes. One of the less tolerant workers sarcastically suggested they try placing the seat in the dryer rather than on top. Nothing seemed to ease the little one’s pain so the sisters took turns rocking, walking and bouncing her until she slept for fifteen to twenty minutes and then started the process all over. Skye was almost a year old before she outgrew the problem. After that she’d been in three foster homes but none worked out. “The first kept her a few months,” Sr. Mary Clare shook her head, “until they found out they were pregnant and decided they could not possibly handle two babies. The second seemed promising but Skye’s increasing activity level was too much for the laid back couple. They wanted the perfect child.” She smiled and eyed them carefully. “I think they’ll be waiting a long while.” Phil shook his head and looked toward the crowd across the wide center. He stood and scanned the area taking a few steps before he recognized Trip with Skye on his shoulders, Fitz and Jemma at his side. He relaxed and sat back next to Melinda. “They’d be better off with a bassett hound, God forgive me.” The little nun looked heavenward and crossed herself quickly. “The third wasn’t quite a good fit either. She was there about three months and well, she is a handful.” Sister smiled weakly. “She was with another family recently. I’d met this couple. They have two boys of their own. It isn’t up to me, but I didn’t like those people. They’re very pointy.” “Pointy?” Phil questioned, unfamiliar with the term. “You know,” she smiled. “Pointy.” She poked her fingers out in different directions. “Their home was spotless. Their boys are honor students. Nothing wrong with that, but I don’t think that little one,” she tilted her head toward the children across the auditorium, “would last long in that situation and I so hate to see her hurt again. She is just a baby and they think she doesn’t realize, but she knows when she’s not wanted.” The woman stopped for a moment collecting her thoughts and emotions. “Two weeks…two weeks she spent with them and they had the social worker bring her back. They said they couldn’t have such a reckless child in their home and that their boys would never act that way. Apparently she broke something that really should have been out of her reach anyway.” The small woman stopped and took a deep breath, calming her emotions. “Please forgive me, but when it comes to Skye…well, I tend to get a bit worked up over some of the nonsense I’ve heard.” She closed her eyes for a few minutes. Phil and Melinda looked at each other and waited for her to continue. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled. “Skye needs a Pillow Person, someone soft who can look past that restless sometimes very naughty little girl…someone who’ll just love her even when she’s at her worst. Oh lord, she needs someone to love her more than anything else in the world. That’s what that little one needs perhaps more than most.” She had tears in her eyes as she nodded toward the little girl who was laughing at something Trip was telling her. Melinda and Phil looked at each other and wordlessly agreed it was time to get that fourth bed. “Who do we need to talk to?” Phil asked as he closed his hand around May’s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My posting has almost caught up to my writing and that is frightening because I am so afraid it will get lost in the shuffle of life. I don't like to post incomplete works! Got suggestions for where to flow this story....send them along. Feedback helps...and keeps the creative juices flowing


	13. Sounding the Alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Melinda bring little Skye home and discover she has a very loud problem

Gaining custody of Skye was no easy battle but after repeated interviews and at least a half dozen home visits Phil and Melinda were granted the status of foster parents. Having other foster children in the home was a great help. Social workers were concerned that maybe she would not get enough attention, sharing a home with three other children. Unannounced visits showed that May and Phil did in fact manage their time and gave attention to all of their kids. 

Skye first spent a day with the family and then a few weekends before the final move was made and she carried her small suitcase across the threshold of the Coulson’s apartment. This time the couple, with the help of their older children, was prepared with a small toddler bed set up in Jemma’s room, and several appointments with real estate agents in Bethesda.

“How long?” The little girl asked as Melinda pulled a new pajama top over her head. She wriggled her arms into the sleeves and pushed her damp hair away from her face.

Melinda straightened the top and smiled at the child. “How long is what?” 

Skye scrunched up her face as if she couldn’t understand why this woman needed more explanation. “How long is heeo?” She pointed down to the mattress with both hands.

Melinda stopped for a moment trying to make sense of the question. This baby, this little girl barely four years old was asking how long she would stay. May swallowed the lump in her throat. “Here is forever.” She stated simply, turning the child away from her and running a brush through her hair. 

“Whad if I be bad?” She kept her head down. “Din I can’t stay no more?”

May finished combing out the tangles in the child’s hair and took her into her lap turning her so they were face to face. “Well, if you’re naughty I guess we’ll just take care of it…here.” May pointed down in the same manner Skye had a few seconds before. The little girl scrunched up her face, not sure she liked the sound of that.

“What you do?” She asked tilting her head and furrowing her brows.

May tapped the end of her nose lightly. “Let’s hope we won’t have to find out.” 

“Suntimes I bad,” Skye continued without changing her expression, then reconsidered. “I always bad. Sisser Dannel telled me.” She nodded agreeing with herself.

May leaned forward touching her forehead to the little girl’s and whispered. “Sister Daniel exaggerated, I think. Everybody’s naughty sometimes,” she turned to see the ‘twins’ enter the room. “Right Fitz?”

“Can we read this tonight?” Jemma smiled as she approached her bed holding out a story book. Fitz followed behind racing past her and bouncing onto the bed. Skye giggled as she and May wobbled in his wake. 

“It’s my turn.” Fitz announced trying to snatch the book away from Jemma and ignoring May’s question.

May quickly placed a kiss on the child’s forehead and sat back. “You’ll have to ask him about it sometime. Right Fitz?” She winked at the boy whose cheeks grew bright red as he ducked his head. “And he’s still here.” She added before turning to Jemma who stood in front of her holding out the book.

“It’s my favorite,” Jemma countered darting the book from Fitz’ reach. “You can read tomorrow and choose as well!”

Melinda reached past Skye still snuggled in her lap and took the book. “How about if I read tonight?” For a moment both kids were silent then both smiled and agreed. Jemma scrambled under the covers on her bed while Fitz snatched a pillow and rested on the bed against the wall. May moved back as well with the little one still in her lap. She opened the book. “The night Max wore his wolf suit and made one kind of mischief or another, his mother called him ‘wild thing!’…”*

Melinda gently laid the sleeping child in her small bed and tucked the blankets around her. She kissed the child’s temple then turned to the two still wide-eyed on the bed. She smiled with pride and opened her arms gathering both in a tight hug. “Thank you so much for choosing a book Skye would like tonight.” She kissed both their heads as they hugged her back. Jemma lay back in her own bed and smiled. Fitz squirmed down to the floor and started for the door waving his good night.

“I’ll get a few more books meant for younger children at the library,” Jemma offered, “until we can get a few for Skye to keep.”

May nodded and kissed her as well, then made her way to say good night to the boys.

 

Phil shuffled through the papers he had spread across the kitchen table and let out a frustrated huff. Melinda stopped behind him squeezing his shoulders once then rubbing her thumbs into his back in a gentle massage.

“There’s a four bedroom, three baths with a huge yard about a mile from the school.” He sighed as he closed his eyes and let his head drop forward. May gave the best massages, even the little ones.

“Within our price range?” She hummed as she glanced over his shoulder at the form in his hands.

“Well, it’s a little higher, but I think we can swing it.” He put down the form and pushed a few aside before picking up another. 

May reached over and took it from him, scanning it quickly before commenting. “Skye asked me how long she could stay here.”

“She’s been through a lot, Mel. She’s too young to understand what’s happening. To her moving from place to place is just how life is. She won’t be a baby forever and now she’ll grow up here with you and me as her parents. She won’t remember anyone else. Jemma and Fitz know their parents, they’ll have memories and Trip, well he has his own memories of his. What will we tell her if she asks about hers?”

“I think we have a long time before that becomes a worry.” She half smiled at him, handing back the form.

“In the meantime we need to find a bigger place. Unless you think we can survive four kids in a two bedroom, one small office apartment.” Phil asked as he rose and walked across the kitchen in his stocking feet. He poured a cup of coffee and added what Melinda felt was too much sugar and more milk than necessary. Turning he leaned against the counter and clinked the spoon as he stirred the hot liquid. He stared ahead deep in thought.

Melinda did a bit of paper shuffling. “Here’s something a little closer to the office. It’s got an in ground pool.”

“Hmmm?” Phil answered, not really listening but imagining a grown up Skye in full fury and deciding it was not a pretty picture. He shook away the thought. “What? Found what?”

“Nevermind” Melinda moved more papers and files picturing anyone trying to contain Fitz and Skye around any body of water, maybe when they were older.

Phil took a quick sip of his coffee and set the mug on the counter before removing a file from the box he had set on one of the kitchen chairs. He handed it to his wife. “Been through this one a dozen times,” he groaned.

She flipped quickly through the file, stopping occasionally to look more closely at a few listings. “Well we don’t have to decide tonight…” She looked at Phil who wrinkled his brow as he took the pile from her. He set it down and pulled another from the box, quickly leafing through it.

“Nothing here either,” he sounded disgusted as he dropped the file on the table. 

The scream that pierced the quiet of the moment shook both as files were dropped to the floor and the first time parents hurried to its source.

 

May raced into the girls’ room a step ahead of Phil. Jemma sat up against the wall, her eyes wide with fear, blanket pulled up in front of her. Skye stood on her small bed, eyes squeezed tight and screaming in short bursts over and over. Her arms were stiff at her sides, both hands drawn into tiny fists. Melinda stopped for a second making the decision which girl to approach first. Phil pushed behind her reaching out a hand and pulling Jemma into his arms. She trembled and wrapped thin arms around his neck burying her face in his embrace. He made quick eye contact with May as he moved toward the door.

May grabbed Skye who gave no sign that she had been taken from her bed. The child remained rigid, her screams only muffled by the fact she was being held close to May’s chest. The woman sat on Jemma’s bed and tried to sit Skye on her lap but the child refused to bend and the screaming continued. 

Melinda May did not panic, she retained her calm, her composure despite the situation but this was a situation she had never experienced and as such had no idea what to do or how to help the small human claxon that now stood on the bed in front of her. She held fast to the child’s upper arms steadying her on the wobbly mattress. 

“Skye…Skye…baby…” she spoke as calmly as possible, trying not to sound cross as she yelled to be heard over the noise. “It’s okay. Skye, you’re okay. It’s just…just…” She searched for some comforting words. “Just a bad dream…wake up baby.” That was it, kids had bad dreams right? Kids had nightmares. Dear sweet lord, what kind of a nightmare could do this to a little kid. “Wake up, Skye.” She shook her just a tiny bit which served only to increase the intensity of the child’s screaming.

May had an odd recollection of a hysterical girl during her college days. She’d gotten some sort of tragic news and began the same screaming pitch. One of her roommates struck her across the face leaving a bright red handprint, but effectively stopping the girl’s screech. She shook away the thought of striking the little one she now held. Instead she pulled her tightly against her, holding her stiff little body close, shushing her softly, rubbing her back and rocking back and forth until the screaming slowly wound down to soft whimpers and the little girl curled against her in sleep.

Phil had carried Jemma to the sofa and was soon joined by two very concerned boys, Fitz holding firmly to Trip’s hand apparently unconcerned with any teasing the older boy might give. They huddled on the couch listening as the screams subsided and waiting…just waiting for what would come next.

When May exited the room she held a finger to her lips indicting everyone should keep quiet. It was rather moot since Jemma had fallen asleep resting against Trip who also slept comfortably nestled into the soft sofa cushions. Fitz leaned against Phil clearing fighting off sleep and covering a large yawn. Phil started to stand but stopped at Melinda’s upheld palm.

“She’s asleep.” May let out a relieved breath and pulled the sheets she held into a tighter ball. “Never woke, not even when I changed her.” 

Phil had rarely seen May look so disheveled. He stepped to her and took the bundle she held. “I’ll throw these in the wash, then get the kids back to bed.” 

May merely nodded. What had she gotten them into? She dropped into the closest chair and ran her hand through her hair, putting it back into some sort of order. She almost jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Everyone has bad dreams, I ‘spose.” Fitz assured her in a soft voice. “I used to have them a great deal, but not quite so much now.” He nodded as he patted her arm.

Reaching up and taking his hand Melinda gave a small smile. “Thank you, Fitz. It’s very late, how about you get back to bed.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind a bit staying with you.” He looked so serious that May almost snickered.

“Alright, little man, back to bed,” Phil announced softly as he reappeared and wrapped an arm around the boy pointing him back to his room. He tapped Trip on the shoulder and the boy rose almost robot-like dragging himself back to his own bed while Phil easily scooped up Jemma and carried her back to her room.

A few minutes later he slid onto the chair next to Melinda and pulled her close. “Great job, mom,” he smiled placing a soft kiss on her temple.

May let out a long cleansing breath, dropped her head on Phil’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, but it seems interest in falling away. It's okay, I do understand. I have a few more chapters and I hate to leave things incomplete. I may just pull it all together and put this to rest. Thanks again for taking the time to read this piece and letting me know what you think.


	14. When the Dark Comes Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family recovers - somewhat - from Skye's night terrors and two little ones go missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but one to follow soon

Morning came much too quickly as far as the family was concerned, with the exception of Skye who did not seem the least bit phased by the wild nighttime serenade. Phil treated everyone to stuffed French toast with maple sugared bacon, much to May’s displeasure. Although she had to admit it was extremely good. Everyone was glad it was Sunday and that no one had work or school to deal with feeling so groggy. By ten Phil and Trip had left for the weekly visit to Mrs. Triplett. Jemma was curled up with a very large book about something May could barely pronounce and Fitz was attempting to rig a third control to the Play Station he had begged Phil to attach to their rather small television set. 

Sky stood on a chair next to the sink watching as Melinda washed the last of the breakfast dishes. “Sisser Care dooz that but she gots more dishes din you.” 

“I guess she does,” May smiled. “You like Sister Mary Clare, don’t you?”

Skye nodded vigorously. “She likes me too. She taked me to the zoo. Juss me.” She pointed to herself, jabbing a tiny finger into her own chest and smiling widely. 

May smiled back. It was good to know that someone cared for this little imp.

“Sisser Clare can come to yorwa house?” The little girl raised her eyebrows, almost begging. “She not take me. She juss bisit.” She assured May with a soft pat on her arm.

May smiled and turned toward the child. “Sister Mary Clare can come to visit anytime she wants, sweetie, any time she wants.”

“I tend she be my mommy but udder kids say she not be a mommy cuz she bees a nun.” She shook her head and gave a sad pout. “But Sisser say she be my godmudder, like Sidderina.”

“Cinderella,” May corrected with a chuckle as she drained the sink and dried her hands. She scooped Skye off the chair and used her hip to slide it back under the table. “How about we get you dressed, collect Jemma and Fitz and spend some time at the park before Phil gets back?”

 

By mid afternoon everyone was napping despite many protests and May had finally reached Sr. Mary Clare by phone. At first the elderly woman sounded worried, so concerned that perhaps the Coulsons had turned out to be not such a good fit. Melinda put her fears to rest quickly and began questioning Skye’s nightmares.

“She usually is a good sleeper, takes at least a two hour nap every day,” Melinda could hear the smile in the woman’s voice. “But sometimes she has terrible nightmares, so bad she can’t be consoled.” Her tone changed drastically. “We had to take her out of the little girl’s dormitory. Most nights she slept in the infirmary. There was a crib there.”

“You left that baby alone in the infirmary all night?” May was appalled.

“No, oh no dear,” Sr. Mary Clare assured her. “There was a bed there as well, someone always stayed with her. I did most nights, but other sisters took turns.” The nun sounded apologetic. “We spoke to the doctor at the clinic. He said it was just a phase and she’d outgrow it. We know that children have nightmares but everything is always so amplified with Skye.”

“Given her fear of such a place, I don’t think it was much help.” May sighed.

The nun tsked a few times before continuing. “We certainly aren’t heartless, Mrs. Coulson, but we had to keep the other children’s needs in mind as well. Skye would wake the entire room and we’d have ten little girls in tears. It was quite a lot to deal with.”

May thought about the previous night and wondered how anyone could deal with that many children in such a situation. “I’m sorry, Sister, I didn’t mean to accuse you. I’m just looking for answers. I thought maybe you could tell me if Skye had some sort of scare that brought this on.”

“I understand,” Sr. Mary Clare replied. “I know how difficult it is and I should have told you about it but, well I had hoped with the new environment and such a lovely family that she might be free of what ever haunts her dreams. I am so very sorry.”

“Do you have any idea what that might be…what haunts her dreams?” Melinda asked, trying not to accuse the woman. Seconds ticked by before the nun answered leaving May to think that she might not want to tell.

“I…I really don’t know, my dear.” Sr. Clare sounded defeated. “I’ve wracked my brain trying to remember anything that could have scared her so fiercely, but there’s nothing. She was in those foster homes and she’s so young, she can’t tell us what might have occurred in any of them.”

“Did something happen?” Melinda was alarmed.

“Nothing we are aware of,” the woman answered and May could picture her shaking her head.

“But, do you suspect…” 

“It isn’t wise to suspect, dear,” Melinda could hear her smile. “Children have very vivid imaginations and as I said before things are always so much more extreme with that little imp. I imagine that includes nightmares.”

“Well, you could be right and I do appreciate your time, Sister. Please keep in touch. Skye says hello.” Melinda hung up feeling she’d accomplished nothing. The nun who she suspected still had a very soft spot in her heart for the little girl couldn’t tell her anything the doctor hadn’t already said.

When Phil and Trip arrived home with a surprise take-out Chinese dinner, May had joined the little ones in an afternoon snooze.

 

By Friday evening and almost a week of everyone having a full night’s sleep Melinda and Phil started to believe or at least hope that their littlest charge had made it over the hurdle of her night terrors. The next four nights let them know how wrong they were as Skye’s hysterical shrieks had everyone wide awake by 3 a.m. While she was able to fall back into a deep sleep once clothing and bedding were changed, almost everyone else struggled to get back to sleep before their morning alarms sounded and the day began.

Jemma blushed as she handed a note to Melinda at the end of the day, apologizing for her behavior. May was surprised that Jemma would misbehave at all and relieved to see that she had done nothing more than fallen asleep in not one but two of her classes. Fitz was asleep on the school bus and nearly missed his stop. Trip dragged so badly he actually asked to sit on the bench at his basketball scrimmage. Coulson was snoring before the evening news was broadcast and May’s temper was stretched thin. Skye did not seem to be affected.

 

Fitz rolled over in his lower bunk listening to Trip’s snuffy snoring above. He glanced at the glowing clock on the nightstand and let out a soft sigh. He wasn’t a good sleeper and did a lot of tossing and turning most nights, but anticipating Skye’s scream and the panic it sent through him was making it even more difficult. He laid on his back and folded his hands on his chest, tapping his fingers. Before he could think himself out of what he intended to do he threw back his blanket and slid off the bed.

The boy plodded the short distance between his room and the girls’ and pushed open the door without making a sound. He stood in the doorway a few seconds watching Jemma sleep. She didn’t seem to be alerted to his presence as she breathed deeply. A soft whimper from Skye brought his attention to the smaller bed closer to the door. The smaller girl seemed restless, squirming and making little sobs in her sleep. If she were about to have a nightmare volcanic eruption it was going to be soon. Fitz dropped to his knees next to the toddler-sized bed.

“Skye,” he whispered close to her ear as he shook her gently and quickly glanced back at Jemma. “Wake up, Skye.” He shook her again a little bit harder.

The little girl opened her eyes slowly and pushed her disheveled hair away from her face. “Hi, Fitz,” she smiled in a raspy voice.

Fitz put his finger to his lips with a soft ‘shhh’ and smiled back. “I want to show you something.” He whispered as he tugged at her hand.

“It’s doerk, Fitz.” She whispered back, scrunched up her face and looked around the room.

“I know,” he smiled as he pulled her to her feet and ushered her out the door. He closed it without a sound and turned back to the tiny girl staring up at him. “It has to be dark for me to show you, but you gotta be really quiet. We don’t want to wake anyone. Okay?” He put his finger against his lips again and she nodded. He took her hand and tip toed across the parlor toward the door.

Fitz stopped at the door, pushed Skye down to sit on the floor and slipped on her sneakers, tying them before he wiggled his feet into his own shoes. He pulled their jackets from the closet and helped her on with hers then put on his own. Skye watched as he pulled a chair from the small desk in the foyer and stood on it to slip the chain lock off and click open the dead bolt at the top of the door. He carefully put back the chair and unlocked the last catch on the door. 

“Wayer we gotta go, Fitz?” 

“Shhh,” he took her hand, opened the door and lead her into the soft lights of the hall.

The door shut with a soft click.


	15. The Windows of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an all out search to find two children gone missing in the night

May tossed back and forth until she had no choice but to sit up, sleeping past three in the morning had become a lost art. It seemed to be the hour Skye’s claxon sounded and although it hadn’t been a long period of time, it seemed her own biological clock was set for the same time.

She sat at the edge of the bed listening for the child’s terrified (as well as terrifying) shriek not realizing she was holding her breath. It remained quiet…except for Phil’s occasional snort. She let out the breath hoping the tide had turned and they were now in a ‘let’s sleep all night’ streak. As the little girl’s episodes had no real rhythm, it was hard to tell.

Rising, she made her way to the bathroom as long as she was up. After taking care of her needs she would make a quick bed check before returning to her own. She didn’t like to admit it but there was something so peaceful about watching her little brood slumber…they were so sweet and innocent. She pushed the girls’ door open and tip toed across the room to slide Jemma’s foot back under the blanket and pull it closer to her chin. The little girl rested on her side with both hands under her cheek. Melinda softly moved the stray hair from her face and kissed her temple. She turned to check on her baby whose bed was now behind the open door. She pushed the door closed a bit and stepped next to it, picking up the ball of blanket from the floor. Her heart sank at the sight of an empty bed.

May stopped herself as she spun back to Jemma’s bed and checked to see if Skye had climbed in with the older girl. Sure she had just tucked the blankets around Jemma but Skye was so little maybe she missed her. It was a silly notion but she told herself that to quell the panic that was rising. No, there was no need to panic. Skye probably just got up and well…

She pushed open the boys’ door with a bit more force, immediately noticing Trip’s form on the top bunk. There was no way Skye could get up there. Trip didn’t use a ladder, he just bounced himself up there somehow. Skye wouldn’t know how…or would she? She moved to the bed intending to stand on the bottom bunk to see the top and stopped again at the sight of a second empty bed. Fitz was gone, too.

Melinda stood for a moment calming herself, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly. They probably slipped past while she was in the bathroom and were snuggled up next to Phil. She hurried back to their room and fought the knot in her stomach when she found only her husband there. 

“Phil!” She tried not to yell as she shook his arm harshly.

He opened one eye and swallowed hard. “Yeah, yeah…I’m awake…I…what time is it?” Phil exclaimed as he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “What’s wrong?” He squinted as she flicked on the light.

“They’re gone,” she breathed, as she pulled on a pair of sweats and slipped a sweater over her nightgown.

“Who’s gone?” he was clearly confused as he grabbed his own sweats from a chair near the bed and pulled them on before crossing the room to her. “Melinda,” he spoke softly as she grabbed her arms and turned her toward him.

She pulled away and jammed her foot into an untied sneaker. Anyone else would have mistaken her response to blind rage, but Phil knew her and saw the unbridled fear beneath. 

“Who is gone, Melinda?” He spoke quiet and firm.

Melinda put a hand to her forehead as she wriggled her other foot into her shoe. “The kids…the kids are gone…Fitz and Skye…they’re…”

Phil blinked a few times and took a deep breath. “Mel, come on, it’s the middle of the night…maybe you were ju…”

“I swear if you say I was dreaming I will deck you.” She narrowed her eyes and spoke through her teeth.

He tried to hide a small chuckle. “Okay…okay,” he placated her. “They probably just climbed in with the others…you remember, like with Jemma when we first went to Sheffield.”

She glared at him for a moment then pulled away and stormed out the door. “Don’t you think I checked?” She fired at him in a loud whisper. “And when has Fitz EVER climbed in with anyone??”

“Well, there was that one time with Mack when he thought…”

Her icy glower stopped him. 

“Did you check the bathroom…”

She through her arms up I the air. “Yes, Phil I checked the kitchen, the parlor, the foyer AND the bathroom! Do you really think they’d be in there together? Fitz takes a bath in his boxers, Phil, do you really think he’d relieve himself in front of Skye?” She huffed as she tried to contain her emotions.

“You know Fitz,” he smiled, “sometimes he can’t sleep…putts-ing around until he tires himself out.”

“In his room, Phil, in his room,” she rolled her eyes. “And not with Skye in tow… and the only place she’d putts off to is our bed and I am pretty sure we would have noticed.” She was having a hard time controlling her volume. But, Phil had already moved away apparently checking for himself. She stood tapping her foot while he slipped in and out of both rooms coming up with the same result.

She followed him into the kitchen where he flicked on the light over the stove and began searching through what they affectionately referred to as the ‘junk drawer’. “What are you looking for?” Her frustration was showing. 

“A flashlight, of course,” he smiled as he held it up and pushed the button and frowned. “Fitz?”  
She nodded. He dropped the item back into the drawer and ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “The closet!” he snapped his fingers and headed for the door.

“Phil, Skye would not hide…”

“Remember last week…” he was already pulling open the hall closet. “Remember when she spilled her milk at dinner and hid behind the chair for almost an hour.” He looked so positive.

“Phil she was afraid we would punish her…”

“Right, right,” he agreed, with his hand on the boys’ bedroom door. “If she woke to a wet bed she would have thought we’d be mad and probably just hid.” He was so proud of his lopsided reasoning.

“Phil, if Skye’s bed was wet, all of us would have been aware.” She reminded him then watched as his face fell and the same fear that had her stomach in a knot fought its way through his optimism.

“My God, Mel,” he breathed and she followed his line of sight to the front door.

Both were there in seconds. Phil held the lock chain with two fingers. “I’m sure I locked this.” He ran through last evening in his mind but could not remember actually sliding the chain into place. He did it every night. It was so automatic he did it without thought. ‘Didn’t I?’ He wondered as he pulled the door open and stepped into the dimly lit hallway.

“Their shoes and jackets are gone…”

Phil looked back over his shoulder as Melinda stared at the family’s coat rack. She shook off the scenarios that ran through her mind. “We have to go look for them.” She turned back and stepped into the hall behind him.

“Wait, Mel,” he stopped her. “We can’t leave the other kids.”

“Trip will be okay. He’ll stay with Jemma.” She reasoned.

“And when they wake and we’re all gone…” He took her hand and squeezed. “We need to call the police, Mel. I don’t think we can do this alone. We don’t know what how long they’re gone or when they left…or…”

She breathed back a sob and held up a hand to stop him. She did not want him to put her worst fear to words…fear that someone had taken them. “Why didn’t I hear them? Why didn’t I know?” She questioned herself more than her husband as they moved back inside and closed the door. 

“Mel, we’ve all been so sleep deprived the last few days…”

“That’s no excuse, Phil…I’m their m…mother, I should have sensed something.” It was the first time she had said it outloud. She was their mother and her heart was shattering. It took everything in her power to hold it together.

“I’m calling Mack and Yo-yo, they’ll get here faster and have more resources.” He announced as he picked up the phone and quickly hit the numbers. She thought of a dozen reasons not to call their friends at four in the morning, but simply nodded instead.

In the hour they waited for Mack to arrive, the couple continued checking their apartment for anything that could alert them to the children’s whereabouts. They were kids, for crying out loud, how could they have disappeared without a trace…left nothing for a pair of skilled detectives to find or to follow? They ruled out anyone entering the apartment. The door had been opened from the inside. They were on the fourth floor and all windows were securely locked. The back door leading to the garbage chutes and fire exits was locked and the slip chain firmly in place. Seeing it so gave Phil the confidence that he had indeed done the same on the front door. Nothing was out of place. There was no sign of a struggle. 

“Would an intruder stop for their jackets and their shoes?” Phil wondered outloud as he walked to the door and back again. “And why take one child from each room…why not take the girls…they’d be easier to contain…” Melinda shot him a fierce look and he kept the rest of his thoughts to himself. 

“What if they just ran away?” Melinda shook her head regretting her own lapse at thinking out loud.

They both turned at the soft rap on the door and Mack’s deep but quiet voice announcing himself and his companion. Phil pulled open the door. Yoyo entered, pushing past Mack and going straight to Melinda. Mack met Phil’s eye and stepped inside.

“How far could they get? They’re just little kids. How the hell did this happen?” Mack fired questions faster than anyone could answer, if anyone wanted to answer. 

“I should have heard them.” Melinda repeated what she had said earlier. It suddenly occurred to her that should any one of the children’s social workers got word of this, all four of the kids would be removed from their care immediately. Of course they would, what kind of people lose two small children in the middle of the night. 

“Did anything happen that would make them want to run away?” Yoyo asked the question Melinda had wondered earlier.

Phil shook his head as Melinda suddenly remembered a call from one of Fitz’ teachers. “Mr. Hall called yesterday, but it was nothing Fitz would or should be concerned about…I didn’t even tell him.”

“Is it possible the teacher told him?” Yoyo asked. 

Phil and Melinda exchanged glances, shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders. There was no way to know. Fitz didn’t share a lot but he hadn’t been acting like there was anything wrong.

“What about Skye?” Mack put forth the question no one wanted to ask. “Do you think she…”

“She’s just a baby,” Melinda cut him off. “I’m sure she didn’t just pop up in the middle of the night and decide she wanted to go for a walk.” She pulled away from Yoyo and walked to the window watching as the sky on the horizon began to lighten with the coming of dawn. “Besides,” she spoke just above a whisper, “she’s so afraid of the dark.”

“Yeah, but not if Fitz was with her,” Mack reasoned and everyone silently agreed.

“What if we are looking at this all wrong? What if they aren’t together? Dios mio!” Yoyo admonished her own thinking.

“What if one of them went out and the other just followed?” Mack added, almost regretting his rush to add to her train of thought.

Melinda shook her head and almost laughed. “No they are together. Sky would not have put on her shoes or her jacket and there is no way she could have reached that lock, even on a chair. Fitz can barely reach himself.”

“We’re wasting time discussing this. We need to get out there and look for them.” Phil brought everyone back to reality. 

“Someone will need to stay here, just in case…” Mack stopped, making eye contact with Phil. They both knew the drill…the protocol in these cases. Someone had to stay in case…just in case they had been taken…in case someone called…in case…

Phil looked at Melinda and knew she was thinking the same thing. She too knew the drill. He swallowed hard and reached for her hand. “We’ll stay. The other two will be up soon. We’ll tell them ourselves.”

“Okay,” Mack nodded toward Yoyo and handed Phil a small radio. “We will keep you posted.” To Yoyo he motioned toward the door. “We’ll start close. You take the lower floors and the basement. I’ll go upstairs and then to the roof. If nothing we’ll call the office and get help to cover the neighborhood.” They stepped into the hallway.

“If we find nothing,” Yoyo took a deep breath, “we will need more than those from the office.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Mack replied and turned toward the door to the stairs, with Yoyo close behind.

 

Melinda sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of having gone cold tea. She did so only to appease Phil who stared blankly into his coffee mug. She tried to stop the scenarios that played in her racing mind. What if they had gone to the roof…in the dark it would be so easy to get too close to the edge and slip...no…she wouldn’t think that. But on the street…on the street there were drunks and druggies and all those people she’d warned them about…people who took small children and did unspeakable things. She swallowed the bile that threatened to have her run from the room. Traffic…dear, god…they could just walk into traffic…there was a construction site a few blocks east, what if…what if. She pushed her chair from the table and paced to the sink and back several times as Phil watched.

He wanted to quell her fears, take away the nightmare scenes he knew she was creating in her head, but he had terrors of his own to fight. Three days ago a young girl had disappeared on her way to school. She was much older than Fitz and the police assumed she had run away but he’d seen the mother in hysterics at the police station. May could control her emotions but if anything happened to either of them he wasn’t sure what her reaction would be…or what he would do. He tried not to think about Billy Heneraldy. 

Billy was a classmate when Phil was in the fifth grade. He rode off on his bike one Saturday afternoon and was found a week later face down in a creek a few miles out of town. He remembered the chaos and the fear that gripped everyone at home and at school and the unending sadness that followed. It was the first time he had to attend a funeral and could not bear to look at the boy’s family as they mourned. Billy wasn’t a friend, but he knew him. Not long after Billy’s dad left the family, his older brother was arrested and his mother became someone all the other mother’s whispered about when they thought no one was listening. The tragedy tore the family apart. 

“How come no one woke me?” Trip asked almost out of breath as he hopped into the kitchen on one foot while tying his sneaker. “I’ve got an algebra test this morning and…” he slowed to a stop realizing something was not right. He dropped his still untied shoe and foot to the floor and froze, looking from one adult to the other. “What…what’s wrong,” he tried to swallow the fear building inside his chest. “Is it m-my gram? Is she okay?” He already had tears in his eyes expecting the worst.

Phil was on his feet and had an arm around the boy’s shoulders in a moment. “No, no Trip. She’s fine. Your grandmother is fine.” He looked into the boy’s eyes then at Melinda and back. The fear threatening to choke the teen lessened but did not dissipate. 

“Then what…” He looked around the kitchen. Usually breakfast would be one the table and the science twins would be arguing over some theory no one else could understand. Skye would be in her booster seat watching them like a tennis match fan while missing her mouth completely as she attempted to shovel whatever was being served. He turned toward Phil, panic in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” He almost pleaded. 

“It’s almost eight,” Jemma’s voice broke the silence that hung in the room. “We’re going to be late! Where’s Fitz? Why isn’t he ready?” She turned to go back but Melinda’s grasp stopped her.

“We all need to sit down.” She spoke softly as she walked toward the table with the girl’s hand in hers.

 

While Yoyo made her way to the basement, Mack checked every inch of the four floors between the Coulson’s apartment and the roof. The hallways left very little area for anyone to hide and as people began to empty into them on their way to work or to school he made it a point to ask if they’d seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. The answer was always the same. People just didn’t want to be involved and their stock answer was ‘no, nothing, nothing at all’. Every floor had a storage room, used mostly by maintenance and custodians and every door was locked. There was no way a kid could get into it, although he was pretty sure that given the right tools little Fitz would be able to pick any lock. The kid never ceased to amaze him and he pushed every thought of the boy being in any kind of trouble out of his mind. 

The radio in his pocket squelched and Yoyo’s voice came through scratchy and staccato. He understood she had finished her sweep of the lower floors and basement with no luck and was taking the elevator to meet him. He let her know he had just finished on the eighth floor. The soft ding of the lift sounded before he started toward the door marked ‘Roof’. She nodded as she joined him and walked toward it. The stopped in front and took a breath before Mack pushed it open and started up the concrete steps.

The roof was wet with the early morning dew, shiny like the surface of a pond, quiet except for the sounds of traffic below. Mack went left moving between the large units that housed air conditioning and heat mechanisms. All were quiet in the moderate temperatures of the season. Yoyo moved to the right around a waist high table top garden one of the residents had apparently started. She snickered at a pair of lawn chairs and small hibachi in the far corner. A steel ladder hung at least five feet from the surface and led to what appeared to be an electrical panel of some sort. She moved under it and checked the darker corners exiting the opposite side and shaking her head at Mack who did the same from the opposite side of the roof. 

“Hey, Turbo, you up here buddy.” Mack called out in a steady voice, not wanting to frighten the boy if he was hiding for some reason. Both agents stopped and listened to the soft breeze that blew across the rooftop and the horns honking below. Yoyo turned quickly at the sound of a soft moan only to spy a pigeon roosting in one of the small alcoves, it’s coo easily mistaken for a child’s voice.

Both adults met in front of the door and turned for one last look across the roof as the pigeon flapped its wings and drifted across the expanse, joining several others on the roof next door. Mack put a hand on the door and pulled a few times before it opened. Yoyo placed a hand on his arm and motioned for him to be still. The both froze and listened again…listened to the sounds of nature and society…and a very soft whimper…a scratching…something moving.

Mack put a finger to his lips and Yoyo nodded as they again headed in opposite directions toward a large black tarp that shook with more force than that soft breeze could muster. When they stood on either side, they took the edge and slowly pulled it back to find two sets of wide eyes staring back at them.

Mack smiled his widest smile and let the breath he’d been holding release. He slapped a hand to his thigh and shook his head. “Turbo, my man, we’ve been looking all over for you two.” He reached out a hand to take the boy who shrunk back trying to stand, pulling the little girl with him. Mack went down to his knees. “Hey, hey,” he spoke in the softest tone he could manage, “it’s okay man, it’s okay.”

Yoyo pressed the call button on her radio, “Coulson, we found them. They are not hurt.”

 

Melinda pushed open the roof door and was across the expanse before Coulson and the other kids crossed the threshold. Mack was down on one knee speaking softly to Fitz who stood with his arm around Skye. The little girl peeked around the large man.

“MAMA!” She shrieked as she pushed past him and ran into Melinda’s open arms. She held the child close in an almost crushing hug for a moment before setting her down and making sure she was not hurt. “I okay, Mama, I okay.” The child smiled. “The big douer got stucked. Fits couldna open it.” She pointed toward the opening and shook her head with a small pout. 

Melinda scooped her up again and kissed her repeatedly. Coulson stepped beside her and hugged them both. She passed the baby to her husband and glared at the small boy trying to make himself disappear. She moved to him quickly and pulled him into a tight hug before turning him toward her and grasping his shoulders tightly.

“Don’t you ever, EVER pull a stunt like that again!” She spoke firmly as tears streamed over her cheeks and she hugged him again, kissing him just as she had the little girl. She stood with the small boy wrapped around her, not even realizing it was the very first time he allowed her to be this close.

Phil moved next to them as Mack and Yoyo moved toward Trip and Jemma who still stood in the doorway. He wrapped his free arm around Mel and Fitz and just held them as the tension slowly lifted. 

Mack motioned for the others to step inside and guided them down the stairs given the parents time with their ‘rescued’ little ones.

Melinda set Fitz back on the ground and took Skye from Phil. Phil tousled Fitz’s curls as the boy rubbed the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve. Mel took his hand and led him to one of the lawn chairs. She sat down with Skye on her lap. Fitz stood in front of her as Phil sat on the second chair.

“What,” Melinda stopped and took a breath in order to keep the emotion from her voice. “Fitz, what are you doing up here? Why Fitz…why did you bring Skye up here?”

The little boy stared at his damp sneakers and played with zipper on his jacket. He sniffed back his tears and let out a shaky breath. Melinda shook the hand she still held and asked again with her eyes. He glanced at her quickly then looked back to his shoes. 

Phil reached, took the boy’s other hand and pulled him into his lap. “Fitz, we aren’t,” he glanced at May who shook her head minutely. He started again. “Well, we are…Fitz, we are upset…” again he looked to May who raised an eyebrow, “angry...we are angry at this situation and we will discuss that later…at length.” Melinda nodded her approval and hugged Skye closer. The little girl watched her father and brother with wide eyes. “Why would you do this, Fitz? Can you tell us?”

Fitz continued to play with the zipper pull on his jacket and Phil could not help notice the large tears that dripped onto the fabric leaving dark splotches where they landed. “I was trying to help Skye.” He mumbled softly.

Phil placed his finger under the boy’s chin and lifted his face to look into his eyes. “You’ll have to speak up, buddy.” He smiled and caught the quick glance he flashed toward Melinda.

“I wanted to help.” He spoke slightly above a whisper as he wiped the tears off his chin.

“Fitz,” Melinda was quickly losing patience. “How does coming up here in the middle of the night help anything?”

“It needed to be night.” He spoke louder but kept his eyes down cast. “You canna see them unless it’s dark.”

May rolled her eyes. Phil held up a hand. “See what, Fitz.” He remained calm and Melinda thanked whatever force gave him that patience because she had just about had it. Skye had fallen asleep against her shoulder and as soon as she tucked this baby back into her bed she and her little midnight marauder where going to revisit her method of dealing with his insubordination.

“The stars,” he sniffled as he looked up at their confusion. “I had bad dreams too and my maw would take me out into the garden or up to the roof and we would look at the stars.” He explained. “She told me they were windows to heaven and that angels looked down through them. We would pick one and she would tell that angel to watch over me. She told me the angel would take away the bad dreams. I was a wee boy but I believed her.” He stopped and took a shaky breath. “I wanted to show Skye the stars to help her…but…but I couldn’t open the door and we got stuck.”

Melinda bit back the tears forming in her eyes and took the boys hand giving it a little squeeze. It was Phil who spoke. “That…that sounds…great, buddy and I hope it helped, but next time you want to take Skye star gazing or if you just need to come up here yourself, you let us know. Even if it’s three in the morning. Okay?” 

Fitz nodded. “Am I still in trouble, then?” He mumbled into his jacket.

“Maybe not so much,” May smiled as she stood, settled Skye on her hip and reached for his hand. He slid off Phil’s lap as the man stood and took his other hand.

They found a note that Mack and Yoyo had taken Trip and Jemma to school. They would pick them up at the end of the day. After a sleepless night, Phil and Melinda tucked two very tired children into their queen-sized bed and climbed in beside them. They’d catch up on lost sleep before dealing with anyone who was still ‘in trouble’.


	16. Back on Track

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family recovers after their scare

Trip stormed into the apartment tossing his jacket across the small foyer desk and dropping his large gym bag on the floor with a loud thud. He flipped off his already untied sneakers sending them in opposite directions – one into the closed closet door and then other under the small desk. He bounced the basketball he carried into the wastebasket and bounded into the living room practically out of breath. 

A quick glance at the clock told him Jemma wouldn’t be home for at least half an hour…unless she skipped her science club like he ditched basketball practice. He’d suffered through the longest day of school in history, watching as the time inched by until he could get back home and find out what the heck that crazy little Scot had done and what price he’d paid. He was almost to his bedroom door when he was slammed with a chocolate blur.

“Frip!” Skye squealed as she raced from the kitchen and plowed into him wrapping her chocolate covered hands around his legs and rubbing her just as chocolate stained face on his jeans. She looked up at him with a wide smile. “I misted you!”

He laughed at the little girl’s greeting and scooped her up in his arms. She kissed his cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He’d need a shower to get the chocolate out of his hair, but he licked it off his finger and made an ‘mmmm’ face.

“We maked pupcakes! Shocolate! See?” She held up her hands as she leaned back in his arms. He opened his eyes as wide as she had done. Skye squirmed her way down and grabbed his hand pulling him toward the kitchen. “Mon…them are good. Mama says we doun gotta wait. You cood eat one right now!”

Trip shuffled into the kitchen pretending to be pulled by the tiny chocolate covered girl that held his hand. He waved with his free hand as he took in the sight before him.

“I didn’t know you baked, Ms. C. Cool!” He smiled tentatively at the many pans; bowls and utensils spread cross every inch of counter and table space in the kitchen, but the tray of neatly iced cupcakes topped with a massive amount of multicolored sprinkles (ala Skye) were evidence that there had been success. Trip wondered if and how many failed attempts had been made. 

“I didn’t either,” Melinda smirked, before stating with a raised eyebrow. “You’re home early.”

Trip stuck a finger in the left over icing and stuck it in his mouth. “Mmmmm, skipped b-ball practice…needed to get back to make sure the little nippers where okay.” He smiled and plopped a dot of chocolate on Skye’s nose.

“Hey,” she protested as she smeared it off with chocolate hands giving herself a total chocolate makeover. “You gonna make me all doerty.” She furrowed her brows at the older boy.

A soft ding from the stove called May to remove another pan of the little golden cakes. She pulled them out and turned off the oven. “Last pan,” she announced.

“They gotsta cool now,” Skye informed him, nodding her head with the serious look of a master baker. “If you doun do that the icing gets yucky and slides all down. Right, mama?” She looked to May for confirmation.

May nodded at the child and to Trip she whispered, “trial and error.”

He bit his bottom lip and nodded in understanding while looking around the kitchen again. “Where’s the little guy?” He feared for his surrogate brother’s fate after the stunt he’d pulled in the wee hours of the morning.

Melinda turned on the water in the sink and started rinsing the dishes they had been using. She stopped Skye from shoveling a large spoon of frosting into her mouth resulting in a grand pout from the little girl as she plopped down from standing on a chair. “You’ve had enough, bao bao.” She smiled at the child and turned to the older boy. “Fitz had a little accident. He went to clean up.” She nodded toward the hall that led to the bathroom and bedrooms.

“Him spilldid alla the milk doun him short.” Skye explained with a ‘yuck’ face.

“He, baby, he spilled the milk.” Melinda corrected.

Skye nodded with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, he spilldid it on he short. You unnerstan me, right Frip?” She repeated to the older boy who turned away to hide the short laugh.

Trip looked again at the enormous mess and backed toward the doorway. “Well, you ladies seem to have this well under control. I think I’ll go see if Fitzie needs any help.”

May had already turned back to the sink and Skye was up on her feet reaching for the spoon again as Trip turned and trotted down the hall.

 

Trip pushed open the door to the room he shared with Fitz and found him seated on the bed tying his shoe. “Hey, little man!” He lightly fist bumped the smaller boy’s shoulder. “How ya doin’?”

Fitz narrowed his eyes and slid his foot to the floor. “I’m quite well.” He looked a bit confused.

Trip folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the bunk bed frame. “Sooooo?”

Fitz continued to stare at the older boy and folded his skinny arms over his own chest. “So…what?” He clearly had no idea what Trip wanted to know.

Trip smiled, swung himself down onto the bed next to Fitz and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, Turbo, share. What’s your sentence?”

The smaller boy continued to look at the young teen with a quizzical scowl. “I do know you’re speaking some form of the Queen’s English but I have no idea what you’re saying.” He said very slowly hoping that Trip understood him.

“Embarrassed, huh?” Trip smiled and squeezed Fitz a little. “Let me guess…no Play Station for a week, no a month.”

Fitz shook his head, his expression unchanged.

“Bed after right after supper for a…nah, that’d be no good, you don’t sleep anyway…” He thought for a moment as Fitz attempted to wiggle away. Trip snapped his fingers and pulled him back, “holy crap man, they didn’t take your box of thing-a-ma-jigs away, did they?” Now, the older boy looked worried.

Fitz shook his head again. “Why…,” he started but was cut off as Trip slapped a hand to his forehead.

“Oh, man…man!” The boy stood and walked across the small room, turned and bent forward quickly then back up. “Oh, man, my little man, don’t tell me you got an ass whuppin’! Oh man!” Trip bent over and back up again cringing at the thought. He swung back down next to Fitz and scrubbed his hand back and forth over the boy’s curls.

Fitz pushed his hand away and squirmed back on the bed, his face turning bright red. “I most certainly did not! What would you want to go and say that for now?”

It was Trip’s turn to look confused. “Well, how about because you took Skye for a midnight stroll up on the roof, ya little numb skull.” He knocked on the top of the boy’s head with his knuckles.

Again, Fitz ducked away and swatted at the offensive hand. “I did not take her for a walk and it certainly was not midnight.”

“Okay,” Trip laughed, “so it was, what, three in the morning?” Fitz blinked a few times then shrugged his shoulders. For a moment, Trip just stared at the smaller boy then he smiled. “So, you’re gonna tell me that you,” he made walking motions with his fingers toward the door and then up toward the ceiling, “and Mr. and Mrs. C did nothing?! Just decided it was a good day to bake cupcakes and, I might add, make a very giant mess AND create themselves a chocolate kid! Man, that baby girl has more brown on her than I do!”

Fitz almost laughed at the comment, but stopped himself. “The cupcakes are for school. Mrs. Prentiss called and asked if May could make them for tomorrow’s Science Fair. Albert Holstein’s mum was supposed to make them, but his brother has the chicken pox…”

Trip laughed out loud. “Josh Holstein’s got the chicken pox! You’re kid…hey, don’t change the subject.”

Fitz pointed a finger at his own chest with a ‘who me’ look.

“Yeah, you,” Trip pointed a finger as well. “I can’t believe you got off scot-free. Man oh man.” He shook his head and smiled sideways at Fitz.

“Did you want them to punish me?” Fitz asked again confused by Trip’s words and actions.

“Nah, little man,” Trip slapped him on the back hard enough to send the small boy forward and caught him before he went face first off the bed. “I wond…er..worried about you all day.” Trip smiled.

“Well, as it were, I didn’t get off *scot-free*, as you say or even American-free if there be such a thing. We talked for a good long time about leaving the apartment and the dangers on the roof and all. They said it was fine that I wanted to help little Skye but not that way. Something about doing the wrong thing for…”

“Yeah, for the right reason, I hear ya, little man,” Trip shook his head and pulled the boy into another unwelcome hug.

Fitz looked down at his hands for a long time then took a deep breath. “I’ll not be allowed to go with my class to the Museum of Science and I’m never, ever, EVER to go on the roof without Phil or May, ever again.”

Trip sighed and shook his head, “Tough break, little guy, but hey, that museum will be there forever. You’ll go next time, right?” Fitz smiled a weak smile a few seconds before the door flew open admitting a very concerned Jemma who raced to the bed and sat on the boy’s other side wrapping her arm around his shoulders as well.

“Fitz, oh poor Fitz…tell me what happened.” She sighed as she squeezed him just a bit. “Have you been punished?”

Fitz rolled his eyes as Trip fell back on the mattress laughing.

 

“You makes very goot icing,” a little voice woke Melinda from her dish scrubbing stupor. The warm water, suds and soft hum of the spigot had lulled her away from the afternoon of measuring and mixing with the help of a way-too-smart-but-very-helpful-Fitz and a way-too-eager-but-not-so-helpful-Skye. Their first attempt resulted in charcoal hockey pucks that set off every smoke detector in the apartment. Skye was no help as she scampered under the table, covered her ears and screamed a matching siren song. Melinda made a mental note to discuss fire safety with all of the kids.

It took two more attempts and a lot of input from Fitz to produce a batch of the little cakes that would be considered edible as well as presentable. The icing, on the other hand, was no problem. It came in a can.

Melinda laughed at the irony and turned to find her littlest ‘helper’ seated on the table licking the last of the chocolate frosting off her fingers. She rolled her eyes and made another mental note not to turn her back on this little one for more than ten seconds. She shook the soap from her hands. “Oh, Skye…” 

The little girl smiled for a second before seeing the look on Melinda’s face. Her bottom lip began to quiver as it turned into a fine pout. She lowered her gaze to the floor and whispered. “I be bad?”

Melinda shook her head and gently lifted the child’s chin so she could look into her eyes. “No, no bao bao, you just be very dirty and very sticky.” She gave her own impression of a pout, scooped the little girl from the table and turned toward the door.

“Ooo wee, girl, you are a fine mess!” Trip smiled as he came through the door with Fitz and Jemma on his heels. He put up his hands, skirted around her, and May as they crossed paths. Skye giggled at his antics.

“Sorry, about the mess guys.” May smiled as she stopped to speak to them. “How about we order a pizza for supper? Phil’s going to be late.” She turned then stopped. “I need to give this one a quick bath. I’ll be back to finish with this fiasco.”

“Hey, no problem, Mrs. C, we can take care of it. You take your time.” He looked at the ‘twins’ who stood on either side with mouths hanging open.

 

One of the first things Melinda learned after taking on her fourth challenge was that giving Skye a bath was no easy chore; just getting her undressed was a mission all on its own. There was dancing and singing and stalling of every persuasion. ‘I hafta go potty’ or ‘I need some toys’ or ‘I do it’ all of which led to a long drawn out production and a very frustrated May. It was different with the others. 

Trip, of course was totally independent, with the exception of the few times he forgot a towel or the necessary bar of soap that Phil would toss to him from the doorway. Phil normally got Fitz started as well and then did a quick check before the boy dried off. Fitz had a habit of actually forgetting to use the soap when he had a proper soak. Jemma sometimes needed help with shampoo and conditioner but otherwise took care of her own needs.

The most difficult part of bathing Skye was enumerating the bruises and scars on her tiny body. Melinda realized that the very first night the little girl spent with the family. Some were just the bumps and boo-boos common for an almost four-year-old…a brush burned knee from falling on the playground blacktop…a long scratch on her forearm from attempting to hold on to a stray cat…and about a half dozen scratched mosquito bites. They weren’t the marks that kept the woman awake long after the little girl had fallen asleep. Melinda wondered if they were same thoughts that invaded her baby’s dreams and brought her to terrorized screaming in the dark. There was a long white scar just along her hairline that Sr. Mary Clare had no explanation for and Skye explained as the truck boo boo. It was quite apparent that the child had not been hit with a truck, her little body would not have survived, but Skye insisted it was from ‘the red truck’ and gave no further information. Melinda tried not to think about it or the other marks on the child’s little frame.

Melinda stood her chocolate covered daughter on the bathroom floor, pushed the stopper into the tub and turned on the water. Skye stood in place licking the chocolate from her hands. Smiling at the little girl, she knelt on the floor and swished her hand back and forth through the water testing its temperature. She turned off the water and pulled the little girl into her semi lap whispering softly into the girl’s ear. “Do you think you could get into the tub without all the fuss?” 

Skye turned and whispered back. “Do you think the woeda will toern shocolate?”

Melinda looked at the condition of the child. “I think it is certainly possible.” She slipped the girl’s T-shirt over her head and almost laughed at the difference in her non-chocolate pink belly and the child’s limbs and face. Skye noticed too and held out her arms straight in front of her.

“Look, mama, I is pink like you and bowroun like Frip.” She whispered in a hush of amazement then pushed up from Melinda’s lap. “I show Frip!” She exclaimed and made for the door only to be caught by her mother.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” May snagged her wrist as she tried to wriggle past and pulled her back into a tight hug. “Not today, baby girl.” She plopped her back in her lap and quickly pulled off her sneakers and socks, stood her up and tugged off her jeans and panties and swiftly slipped her into the warm tub.

The little pout lip protruded once again but disappeared quickly as Skye watched the chocolate lift from her skin and slowly swirl into the warm water. A broad smile spread across her face as she scooped up the liquid in cupped hands. “Look, mama,” she squealed, “I take a bath in hot shocolate!” Before Melinda could stop her, she gulped the murky swill from her hands.

Melinda grimaced as she grabbed a washcloth and soap. “Ick, Skye, don’t drink that.” She shook her head and smiled at the happy little tike who smiled back. It had been unusually easy to get Skye into the tub, getting her out would be another story all together.

Twenty minutes later (and a quick clean water refill) Melinda lead Skye back to the kitchen. Trip and the kids sat at the now spotless table playing a heated game of Skip-Bo.

“I play, too!” Skye exclaimed as she slipped out of May’s hold and scrambled up onto the chair closest to Trip. “Me too, Frip. I play too.” Trip laughed, reached over and pulled the little girl into his lap.

”How about you be my partner?” He whispered in her ear. She nodded as she tried to take the cards from his hands. “Whoa there,” he smiled and handed her two of the cards he held. “These here, are the best ones. You hold on to them.” The little girl’s eyes widened as she took the cards and hugged them to her chest.

Melinda looked around her now totally clean kitchen. “You did all of this?” She looked Trip.

He nodded. “Well, these two slackers helped too.” He nodded toward Jemma and Fitz. “I ordered two pizza’s from Maroni’s. Got large this time since it wasn’t enough last time…one with extra cheese and one with pepperoni. Should be here in about,” he looked up at the clock, “ten minutes.”

Melinda could not contain the smile that spread across her face. She’d had her doubts about living with a teenagers…worried about attitude issues and bad influence for the little ones…and yet this young man never ceased to amaze her with his integrity, manners and just plain good-natured helpfulness. Mrs. Triplett had raised her grandson from the age of two when his father was killed in action on a training mission and her daughter-in-law disappeared out of the boy’s life. 

The woman and her husband took the responsibility, one May now fully understood, and brought up this boy to be a fine young man. She’d worried so much that he would set a bad example for an already mislead Fitz and here he was probably the greatest role model the little boy could have. He was the first to encourage Fitz when he slipped back into his insecurities. His patience was unlimited as he tried with no success to teach the boy basketball and then forced himself to learn the ins and outs of soccer in order to play with Fitz for a few hours every weekend. It did not go beyond her notice that several new tools had appeared in the little boy’s ‘tool box’. At first she’d suspected Phil but when she found a receipt from a local hardware store in Trip’s jeans on laundry day, she had no doubt how they’d gotten there. 

Trip had extra ‘pocket money’ from his part-time job at the bodega. He could use it for any crazy notion a fourteen-year-old would waste his money buying…she tried not to imagine what that might be. Yet, here he was picking out screwdrivers and pliers for his little ‘brother’. Trip gave Fitz his time as well, aside from basketball and soccer, he’d spend hours tinkering with all those gadgets the little boy would create. He’d critique and comment, advise and admire every effort. And Fitz blossomed in the attention.

Trip looked up from his cards. “Looks like you’ve got as much chocolate as Skye.” He nodded toward the large splotch on her T-shirt. Melinda looked down and realized that with mixing, baking, icing, and cleaning the chocolate mess that included her baby, she took was filthy. She raised her eyebrows. 

“Soon as I get everyone fed and get Skye down for the night, I’ll clean up.”

Trip shook his head. “I got this, Ms C. You go have a nice soak, relax a bit. I’ll get the pizza and make sure the team gets fed.” He smiled his broad smile.

“No, Trip, you don’t have to do that.”

“Not a problem, Ms C., I got this.” The ding of the doorbell cut her off as the ‘twins’ both jumped to answer the door. Fitz snagged the money off the table as he followed Jemma to the door. “See,” he nodded at their retreating forms as he held Skye in place. “We got it all worked out.”

“Trip…you…” she moved behind the boy and kissed the top of his head. “You are something!”


	17. Catch Me and Hug Me and Say It Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day draws to a close...Phil returns...May has second thoughts and Fitz confronts his guilt

By the time Phil got in, homework was done and checked, supper was eaten and the kitchen cleaned for the second time (with two large pieces of double cheese/pepperoni slices saved), stories read, and all four kids scrubbed, kissed, and tucked safely into bed. Melinda expected a fuss but was happily surprised that everyone went down and out with relative ease…something she felt was a little too good to be true and would probably be followed by the claxon call by 3 a.m. 

Despite that thought, she took the opportunity to soak in a hot tub and relax with a book she’d wanted to read while she waited for her husband. The day caught up with her as well and she was dozing when Phil quietly entered the apartment and woke her with a soft kiss. She jumped just a bit, more surprised at the fact that she hadn’t heard him than by his closeness.

“Pretty quiet, huh?” Phil smiled as he slid around her onto the couch and snuggled into her side, kissing her again. 

She smiled back, “it’s after eleven.”

“Sorry, I’m so late…things…just…got…away from me.” He kissed her between words and ended resting his forehead against hers. He smiled into her chocolate brown eyes and she returned that smile into his baby blues then moved forward and collected a real kiss that lasted longer than either expected. Both leaned back and breathed deeply. “Missed you,” he sighed.  
Melinda snuggled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple. They stayed that way in silence, each caught in their own thoughts, each enjoying the other’s company.

“We saved you some pizza.” Melinda whispered, playing with the buttons under his necktie.

He slid his hand over hers and brought it to his lips for a soft kiss. “Had something at the office,” he whispered back then smiled at her looking up at him. She nodded and closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of him.

She would never admit it but she missed their quiet alone time and wondered if ‘real parents’ felt that way. Was it guilt that made her suddenly feel flushed…guilt because she had the feeling or maybe because she didn’t feel she was a real parent? After all, they certainly did not do it in the conventional manner. 

*Normal* people had to wait forty weeks to go through hours of labor and then proudly hold their squawking bundle of joy…a tiny bundle…one tiny bundle. They had four…FOUR not so tiny children in less than six months, not that there wasn’t a lot of painful hurdles to overcome. Sure, she went through all of the motions but that’s not what made you a parent. She worried about them every day and every night…and every time she watched Jemma and Fitz climb on that school bus…every time she wrestled Skye into the bath or her shoes or the dinner table or anything else that little whip had to do. It never left her mind when Trip wrestled with algebra after two hours of bagging groceries or Fitz rambled on about how his mechanical contraption worked using words and terminology that meant nothing to her and how Jemma still wasn’t eating but just moving food around on her plate or nibbling on crackers. A *real* mother would know what to do…know how to help the children who had grown not only in front of her, but inside of her. 

“Hey,” Phil prodded softly. “Penny for your thoughts…” 

Melinda smiled and shook her head against his chest. “Just thinking…” She reached up and kissed his lips, silencing him before he could ask again about what she was thinking.

He looked at her with dreamy eyes and smiled that kind of sideways goofy smile that made her fall in love with him all those years ago and now all over again. He kissed her back, stood and pulled her to her feet. “I really missed you, Mel.” He pulled her close and kissed her again before taking her hand and leading her to their room.

 

At 2:45 a.m., Melinda turned and looked at the clock then looked at the man asleep on her chest. Slowly and carefully, she untangled herself from him, kissing his forehead softly as she did. He grumbled a bit under his breath and rolled to his side. She smiled at how easily he switched gears even in his sleep as she slid off the bed and slipped her nightgown over her head. Grabbing her robe, she pulled it on, tied the sash around her waist and quietly padded into the hall. 

The door closed with a soft click and immediately Melinda froze. Crying…someone was crying, not Skye’s blood curdling wail, but soft sniffling sobs, the kind someone made when they didn’t want anyone to know they were hurt or sad or just needed comfort. She stopped for a moment at the boys’ door not expecting to hear anything and not being disappointed. Moving to the smaller room shared by the girls she found the source and expected to find Jemma hiding her tears in her pillow then pretending to have been dreaming. 

She pushed open the door and looked across the short distance. The little bit of light that shone into the room reflected on Jemma’s soft countenance. The girl was asleep, really asleep with her hands tucked under her cheek. The sobbing shut off as if a switch had been tripped. Melinda stepped into the room and peeked behind the door where little Skye was lying sideways across her mattress, one arm around a beaten-up, one-eyed stuffed bunny she called ‘Salty’ and her blankets tossed to the floor. The baby was soundly sleeping. May smiled at the sight and bent to pick up the blanket. Her hand brushed against a small bare foot that quickly pulled away.

“Fitz?” Melinda whispered, clearly confused. 

He breathed in quickly, but a soft sob escaped. The boy stared into her eyes for a moment then pulled his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and lowered his head. She couldn’t hear him, but could see him trembling with tears. She quickly and gently turned Skye back to her pillow and tucked the blankets around her then turned to the small boy seated on the floor against the wall.

Melinda reached out her hand and spoke in a hushed whisper, “come with me, Fitz, please.” She waited a few beats until he lifted his head and quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He blinked a few times and swallowed hard then reached out and took the offered hand.

 

Melinda led the boy to the living room after quietly closing the door on the sleeping girls. She turned on a small lamp, sat on the couch and stood Fitz in front of her. He was still crying silently, despite his effort to hide it. She held his hands in hers and waited for him to look her in the eye. He kept his head down and mumbled something she could barely hear and did not understand.

She shook his hands gently and spoke softly. “I’m sorry, Fitz, I don’t know what you’re saying.” She tried leaning forward to look at his down-turned face. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook with the sob he struggled to muffle.

“Are ya about to smack me?” He exhaled the words so quickly he was still barely understandable especially as it was followed by all of the penned up emotion. 

“What?” Melinda was taken back with the child’s question. “Smack you? No! Why…oh, god, Fitz, no…” She rubbed her hands gently up and down his arms. The boy kept his gaze to the floor and shuffled from foot to foot.

“I know you’re still quite cross with me…I know I did wrong…” He continued but was stopped when May put two fingers under his chin and lifted his face to look in his eyes. He closed them and squeezed out the tears.

“Fitz,” Melinda spoke just above a whisper. “What do you think you did? I am not angry with you.”

Fitz nodded furiously, keeping his eyes closed so not to look in the woman’s eyes. “I wouldna hurt her, not ever.”

Melinda was confused. “Who, Fitz, who won’t you hurt?” She knew the boy had a temper, but she couldn’t picture him hurting anyone.

Fitz looked away and chewed his lip. He tried weakly to pull away from her grip then quickly swiped away tears with his shoulder. The boy took a few breaths and Melinda waited for him to continue. “Skye,” he let out in a hiccup, without turning back toward her.

“Skye?” Melinda watched as he nodded, sniffled and again wiped his tears on his shoulder. “Fitz, why would I think you’d hurt her. I know how much you like Skye.”

“But, I took her away.” He turned, pulled one hand free and used it to harshly brush away the tears that would not stop. He twisted the other hand to free it as well, but Melinda held tighter.  
“I took her and frightened you. She’s your wee baby and I know you care for her and I didna mean…” He spoke faster, through his teeth almost in anger.

Melinda realized what the boy was trying to say. “Fitz…we talked about that. It’s okay…it’s over.” She tried to console him keeping her voice quiet and calm.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t care if you want to smack me. I won’t cry or fuss…just please…please…” he took a breath and tried to pull back the flood of tears but failed as he finished, “please don’t send me back.” His body shook with the force of his emotion.

 

“Oh, Fitz,” Melinda couldn’t stop the tears that fell over her cheeks as she pulled the little boy into a tight hug. “Oh, baby,” she kissed his curly head as she held him close to her heart. 

“I didn’t mean to make you think you lost her.” He struggled through his tears into her chest.

Melinda hugged him tighter, rocking him back and forth. She realized the little boy thought she blamed him for last night’s escapade, that he had put Skye in danger and she only worried about the little girl. This poor little kid, after everything still felt May had no feeling for him. She thought back to the morning and how she had read him the riot act, threatened to do a lot more than yell if he ever pulled a ‘stupid stunt’ like that again. Yes, she was concerned for her four-year-old, but he too was just a little boy. 

She kissed the top of his head again. “Fitz, baby, of course I was afraid, but you listen to me,” she pulled him away and held his face in her hands, “I was afraid I’d lost BOTH of you…both of you, Fitz.” She pulled him back and rocked him back and forth, shushing him softly and pulling him to her until he sat on her lap, curled against her. “I missed both of you, Fitz. I…love both of you…and I will never, ever send you away.”

Again, a soft mumble made its way from the sobbing child and again May tried to understand. “I really miss my ma, May. I miss her so much my heart hurts and I can’t make it stop.” He turned his head and she finally understood. 

There were no words to take that hurt away, no words to help him understand or ease the ache it left. May squeezed him tighter wishing that she could merely hug the pain away. She kissed him repeatedly as her own tears fell into his hair.

“Shhhh, baby, I know you miss her, I know. It’s okay to be sad, Fitz. It’s okay to cry for your mom, baby.”

“I HATE him, May,” the boy’s voice was shrill and angry, despite his tears. “I hate Jamie Grant. I want to KILL him and punch him and stab him and spit on him and push him and I want him to go to HELL and burn forever and ever and ever.” His tone rose to an almost scream then fell into sobs once again.

“Yes, baby, I know, I know.” She tried to comfort him but could do no more than hold him and let him cry. “He’s not going to hurt you, Fitz.”

“But he hurt her…he hurt my ma…” Fitz cried harder. “Why…I wanted to save her, May, I did.”

“I know you did and you were very brave and your mother knows that, baby.” May tried consoling him.

Fitz nodded into her shoulder. “I dream…bad things…I dream she’s calling me and I can’t find her and he’s laughing and she screams so loud…and then it’s…it’s Skye and she scares me so much.” He sobbed wholeheartedly, then stopped and ran the back of his sleeve across his nose, pulled himself up and looked into May’s eyes for the first time. “But, I like Skye…I really do. I would not hurt her…I wouldn’t ever.” He shook his head and wiped his face again.

Melinda smiled and wiped her own tears. “I know you do, baby and she loves you too. We all love you, Fitz.”

He took a shaky breath and swallowed again. “I still love my maw, May, I really do.” He said in a small voice. “Is that alright?” He whispered lowering his gaze.

May took the boy’s face in her hands and smiled a weak smile. “Yes, sweetheart, of course.”

“And you won’t be mad?” May shook her head. “Promise?” She nodded and the boy let out a relieved breath. “You won’t send me away?”

“Never,” she smiled and he smiled a tiny smile back. She pulled him back into a hug and they relaxed into each other for a few minutes. May let him cry, softly humming a long forgotten lullaby to try to help calm him. When his sobs reduced to sniffles, she set the boy on his feet in front of her and stood, taking his hand. “Come on,” she held out her hand.

He looked up at her, questioning only with his eyes as he took her hand and followed her toward the front door.

“I bet,” she smiled as she handed him his jacket and nodded toward his shoes, “we can find just the star that your mom’s angel is peaking through.”

Fitz slipped on his shoes and his jacket then wiped away the last of his tears. He followed May into the hall. “What if Skye wakes up and we aren’t there?”

“Phil’s there, Fitz.”

They stepped into the elevator and stood in silence for a few seconds. “May?” Fitz asked in a small voice. She looked down at him. He immediately looked at the floor. “Do you think my maw would be mad if I were to call you ‘mom’?” He was careful to use the American pronunciation.

Melinda stopped for a moment and in that instant knew exactly how a mother felt the first time she was handed that squawking baby. Her voice shook with it. “She’ll always be your maw, Fitz, but I think we’d both be happy if you called me ‘mom’.”


	18. Wild Thing....you make my heart sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May needs to return to work...but what to do with little Skye...maybe Jemma has the answer, because May was seriously mistaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeewwww, this was a boring chapter, but needed for lead in to next chapter  
> I've got some...well, lots of experience in this subject and it truly is never as boring

“Okay, bao bao, you are all ready for your first day at the office.” May smiled, tapped the little girl on the tip of the nose then lifted her from the table to the floor. 

Skye stood admiring the shiny black Mary Janes on her feet. She tapped one foot against the tiled kitchen floor, smiled up at May and tapped the other. She walked across the floor exaggerating her steps so they tapped loudly. She giggled at the sound then ran back across the bare floor and into the carpeted living room.

“I think she likes her new shoes.” Phil smiled as he finished his coffee and placed the cup in the sink. “Are you sure about this?” He asked May who had stepped closer to the door to watch her youngest child try her shoes on the various textures on the apartment’s floors.  
“It’s been a month, Phil. I need to get back to work.” She answered without looking at him.

He moved behind her and watched at the little girl bounced up and down the step from the parlor to the foyer. He chuckled at her antics. “But are you sure about taking her to the office…all day?”

“I’ve got a bag of toys, snacks and a blanket for nap. She’ll be fine.” May smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder.

“Okay, then,” he kissed her cheek and moved quickly into the parlor scooping up Skye as she danced across the hardwood in the foyer, “time to go, angel baby.” She giggled at his antics as he snuggled into her neck and kissed her repeatedly.

 

Melinda learned very quickly that a boring bag of toys from home could not compete with all there was to do in a large working office. Skye was immediately fascinated with the paper shredder and the many colorful specs of paper enclosed in the large see through catch basin in front. One of the young secretaries, who had fallen head over heels for the little cherub, made the mistake of showing her how the paper cross-shredded into confetti and swirled around in that camber until the automatic feeder emptied. Skye was thrilled when the girl allowed her to slide paper after paper into that feeder and squealed with delight as the yellow, pink and green forms turned in the what she called ‘prinkles’. The girl soon regretted her action when Skye slipped the reports she had just completed into the machine leaving her to repeat her morning’s work.

Automatic pencil sharpeners were also a great fascination and it wasn’t long before almost every pencil in the vicinity was no more than three inches long. Skye was overjoyed to watch the little sticks get smaller and smaller. Sharpening pencils was fun they shrunk so neatly…ink pens not so much. The first and only one to enter the machine produced a tooth-grinding noise that stopped everyone and the spurt of ink that splattered out dowsed not only the little culprit but also two agents and a rather unimpressed older secretary. Luckily, baby wipes remove almost everything, including ink, and May was well stocked. All of the adults managed to get the spots from their clothing and Skye’s face and fingers were smudged clean. May set up a few of the child’s favorite toys on the floor behind her desk then positioned her chair to keep the little tike from wandering out of her office, which worked only until the woman was distracted by a hysterical phone call from a recent client. Skye simply wandered back into the busy office workspace and found she could just reach the water cooler; unfortunately, she could not reach the small paper cups to catch said water. The inquisitive little trouble-finder flicked on the water tap and watched the catch tray fill…then overflow to the floor.

“Uh-oh,” she grimaced as she tried to turn it off but managed only to topple the heavy piece of equipment teetering to one side. The crash stopped the office again and brought May and Coulson running only to find the five gallon jug glugging its contents onto the floor and their young miscreant nowhere in sight. 

While maintenance managed the mess, May sought out the little girl who had scrambled under the nearest desk to take cover. She pulled herself into a tight ball and covered her face with both hands – instant invisibility for a small child. She peeked at her mother who bent low to see her and beckoned her out with a crook of her finger. Skye shook her head and quickly recovered her eyes, pulling herself further into the corner of the large metal desk.  
“Skye,” May stood and used her firmest voice. “I need you to come out. You don’t want me to have to help you.” She waited a few seconds. “Skye?”

“I no wanna,” a little voice came muffled through the child’s hands.

“I think you should.” May insisted. 

“Can’t,” Skye explained.

“Try,” May suggested and again waited for the child to comply. The rest of the office reacted light-heartedly, with the exception of one pinched-face client who had witnessed the whole incident.

“If she were my child, she’d have a very warm bottom by now!” The woman huffed as she stormed past May on her way to the door. “See if you get my business…can’t even control one small child. I’ve never…” She continued until she exited the facility.

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.” May grumbled under her breath. Phil tried to stifle a laugh as he stepped beside her. She glared at him. As usual, his smile calmed her ire.

Phil squatted down and peered under the desk at his little girl. “Kinda dark under there, huh?” He looked around the small area. “Not a whole lot goin’ on either, doesn’t look like much fun.”

Sky spread her fingers, peeked at him with one eye and whispered, “Mama’s mad to me.”

Phil looked up at his wife who stood with her arms across her chest, brows furrowed and lips in a thin line. “Yep,” he looked back at his daughter, “she’s sure mad to someone. But, I think we can get her to be glad again if you come out help me.”

Skye shook her head again. “Nope. Maybe hoer hit me…Sisser Danell hit me cuz I breaked the big statue.”

Phil looked up at May who rolled her eyes and shook her head. He wondered just what sacred image Skye had defaced and why a nun would strike such a small child, but that was something to pursue later. Right now, he needed to end this stand off. “Well, Mama is not a Sister and she isn’t going to hit anyone. I think she is just glad you didn’t get squished and probably needs a hug.” He glanced at May. “Right, Mama.”

May closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Although she certainly felt offended by the comments of the haughty client who had just marched out of their office, she knew her mother never would have stood for such behavior and she would have received much less than a hug for disobeying. She pushed that memory aside and attempted to drop all of the anger out of her tone.

“Yes, Skye…mama needs a big hug.” May repeated her husband’s words but felt it was a cop-out for getting the child to obey. A few minutes later Skye duck-walked from her hideout, stood and reached up to a rather stern-faced May who gathered the little girl in her arms. Skye wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and buried her face there.

“I sorry, mama.” She whispered so that only May heard.

The office erupted in applause that caused the child to hug her mother tighter and bury her head further. Phil stood and May leaned closed to Skye’s ear. “Wǒmen yǒu yīgè cháng shíjiān de tánhuà, yī diǎndiǎn shíjiān.”

 

The talk didn’t last as long as May planned. Almost four-year-olds have very short attention spans and even shorter memories for direction or correction, but May could not bring herself to deliver consequences to the contrite little girl that sat on her lap and nodded in agreement to statements she didn’t really hear. Melinda let the little girl go with a firm warning. By lunch Skye had sampled the sweets and goodies on every desk, dumped the paper shredder to see the ‘sprinkles’ up close, switched off all of the printers, jammed the copy machine – twice and knocked over every waste basket as she raced through the facility weaving through work stations as she went.

Phil poked his head out of his office and shook his head. He didn’t think this was a good idea, but he had been willing to try it. Melinda May had never apologized so many times in one day and although everyone seemed very forgiving she knew they also hoped Skye would not visit again soon. She snatched the little girl from one of the office chairs she had discovered spun in circles as well and went up and down at the push of a button. Several employees were busy readjusting their seats.

Skye spun around holding her mother’s hand and crossed her legs, then spun back and did the same. “I go potty, Mama.” May dropped the conversation she was having with one of the exasperated clients who had the misfortune to come into the office today and whisked the little girl off to the lavatory.

Forty-five minutes later Skye was curled up with her blanket and ‘Salty’ on the floor of Melinda’s office. Melinda decided to use the time to finish as much paperwork as possible, schedule security for the museum exhibit the following weekend and do some damage control with a few of the more sensitive clients on their roster. As soon as Skye was awake, she had every intention of packing up and taking her little office-wrecking monster home. She looked up as Phil stepped through the door. She quickly put a finger to her lips, warning him to keep quiet.

He stood over their baby, smiled then looked at May and opened his mouth to speak.

“I swear if you say, I told you so…”

Phil smiled and shook his head. “Wouldn’t dare,” he sniggered.

“I don’t know how Sr. Mary Clare did it.” May shook her head.

“She’s just curious, May. Curious is a good thing.”

“Is it?”

“I’d say our best agents are more than inquisitive.” Phil smiled.

“Semantics,” Melinda smiled back. 

 

Jemma was the first to arrive at the end of the school day, which was unusual for her. She explained as she walked to her room to deposit her satchel that the Science Club monitor, Mrs. Bently, had to leave early and therefore their weekly meeting was cancelled. Fitz, she explained had a lab experiment to complete and would be along later. The school van, unlike the school bus, transported students throughout the day rather than only in the morning and afternoon. It made life for parents of ‘gifted’ and sometimes very busy students a lot easier.

“Hi, Zemma!” Skye greeted as she rushed to her big sister’s side. 

“Jemma,” the older girl corrected, “J-J-Jemma.”

“I gotz prinkles!” The little girl smiled and held up a ziplocked bag filled with the colorful result of the office cross-shredder.

“I believe the correct term is confetti.” Jemma corrected again, looking closely at the bag Skye held up.

“I give you some, ownie mama tapeded it so it no spill.” She frowned as she shook the bag upside down.

Jemma shook her head. “That’s okay, Skye. I can just look at your treasure. It wouldn’t do well to spill it all over the floor. You wouldn’t want the vacuum take it, would you?” The small girl shook her head and hugged her baggie to her chest.

Both girls made their way to the kitchen where May was contemplating take out, considering her day as opposed to a real meal, considering that is what kids should eat. Take-out was fine for a yuppie couple who worked all hours of the night and day, but not for four growing children. She had to remind herself of that pretty much every time she stood in front of the refrigerator or the stove.

Jemma rested her arms on the edge of the table and watched as Melinda stared into the refrigerator. Skye climbed up, knelt on a chair and spread her treasured bag of sprinkles flat on the table, amazed at the reaction of the static electricity on the little paper pieces. 

“Will Uncle Phil be late again this evening?” Jemma asked quietly.

“I’m afraid so,” Melinda apologized as she pulled open the freezer and smiled. “But no need to worry, Jemma. I almost forgot about this lovely pan of lasagna he froze last week.” She held it out to the girl as she pushed the freezer door closed with her elbow. “I will just pop this in the oven, and we’ve got a meal.” She slid the large pan on top of the stove and turned back to the refrigerator. “Besides I can certainly throw together a salad and a loaf of garlic bread.” 

“I no like zalad.” Skye stated as she continued to stare at her bag of sprinkles.  
“Aunt Mel, I think we should really think about helping Skye with her grammar and perhaps her language skills. She does seem to have some difficulty with both. You have noticed, haven’t you?” Jemma inquired as Melinda placed a large bowl on the table and began shredding greens into it.

“I have, thank you.” She smiled at Jemma. “You can wash your hands and help if you like.” The girl nodded and excused herself from the room, returning quickly and showing she had accomplished the task. May handed her the lettuce to continue shredding and picked up a knife to slice cucumbers.

Skye stood on her chair and peered into the bowl. She scrunched up her face. “I no like cumcubers, eeder. Blah!” She stuck out her tongue making a ‘yuck’ face.

Melinda shook her head. “Vegetables are good for you.”

“But they is breen.” Skye shook her head too as she looked into the bowl.

“Green, Skye. G-g-green.” Jemma corrected and Skye nodded in agreement. “You see, Aunt Mel.” She pointed out Skye’s miserable use of language. “I try to tell her, but it does not seem to do very much for her.”

May stared at the little girl who seemed oblivious to the conversation. Jemma was right. Skye was three weeks short of turning four. Her language skills were quite poor. She’d spoken to the pediatrician about her concern and was told to let it go for a bit, let Skye get used to her new environment…her family…before pushing her into counseling or therapy of any kind. Skye had grown up in the orphanage surrounded by many more children than the sisters could give undivided attention to for most of the day. They probably didn’t spend a lot of time correcting bad grammar and Skye more than likely imitated what she heard from other children. As far as the mispronunciations, the doctor felt it was age appropriate and would correct itself, in time. It would not hurt for Mom, Dad and siblings to help with some gentle corrections or reminders, but mostly but setting good examples. This was not something that would happen overnight, it would take time. ‘We’ll keep an eye on it,’ Dr. Stephens had said. If it didn’t improve, they’d take more action.

Jemma finished her task and walked to the trash to deposit the scraps. She opened the lower cabinet door and pulled out a can of black olives, set it on the opener and pressed the on button. Skye smiled as she brought the little fruits to the table, she held out her hand with fingers spread and waited for Melinda to pop one on each of her digits.

“I likes these.” She smiled and nodded as she sucked one off her thumb.

Melinda held one out to Jemma who shook her head. Another issue to deal with, Jemma still was not eating enough to keep a bird alive. They had an appointment to finally finish all of the ‘twins’ immunizations next week. She intended to speak to the doctor about this as well. Jemma’s waning appetite made sense a few months ago, back in Sheffield. She was mourning her loss, dealing with the ravages of grief and trying to cope with all of the changes it brought. Melinda was certainly sure she would have lost her ability to hold anything down if she was faced with the same situation and she was an adult. However, things were not improving and she knew the girl was losing weight. The uniform that fit her a month ago was now looking a bit big. Jemma insisted the sweater she wore was not hers, that she had taken another girl’s by mistake. She still had the same sweater, with her name written on the tag, right were May had put it before she started school. Jemma was not eating and Jemma was lying. They needed to talk. 

“Maybe Skye should go to school.” Jemma suggested bringing Melinda out of her thoughts.

“I go onna bus, like Zemma and Fizz?” Skye’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

Jemma nodded and May smiled at the little girl’s enthusiasm. “Not yet, bao bao,” she smiled at Skye and to Jemma remarked, “she’s a little young for school.”

Jemma cut the last olive in half and dropped it into the salad then wiped her hands. “Actually, she is not. There are quite a few perfectly proper pre-primary schools in the area. I’ve done some research if you’d like to see. In fact our school has a fine program, but I’m afraid there are no vacancies.”

Melinda smiled to prevent her laugh from escaping. Jemma was nothing if not thorough. “I would love to see your research. Maybe we can talk when Phil gets in, if it isn’t too late.” Jemma nodded. 

“You know,” Melinda began as she carried a few tomatoes to the table and sliced them into a separate bowl. “You were very lucky to have such intelligent parents who spoke to you all of the time and taught you to speak so well. Skye didn’t have that.”

Jemma chewed her bottom lip and watched as Skye drummed the bag on the table with her olive tipped fingers. “It is very sad that she was in that foundling home. I’m glad she’s come to live with us. Do you think that’s why she screams in the night as well? That is quite terrifying.”

May stopped and looked at the small girl, so very mature for her young age and at the same time so very young for the maturity she carried. “It is, Jemma. It really is.”

 

Phil arrived home just as the family sat down for dinner, a bit later than usual as frozen lasagna takes a little longer to bake than does freshly made. The lateness of the meal threw everyone off schedule so while Jemma and Fitz cracked the books to complete homework assignments, Phil and Trip rolled up their sleeves to clean up afterward. Once again, Melinda fought the battle of getting Skye in and out of the bath. 

By 8:30, the younger kids were in bed and Trip was finishing a history report on Phil’s computer. He proof read, printed and stapled his project then said good night and disappeared into his room leaving the couple to their self-time. 

“I guess you know today was a total failure.” Melinda stated blankly as she placed a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of Phil.

He stared at the cup next as he crossed his feet on the same table, linked his fingers together and rested them behind his head. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“You don’t have to. It speaks for itself.” Melinda sighed disgustedly as she set down her own cup and plopped on to the couch next to him. 

He looked at her and smiled. “Well, you tried.”

Melinda smirked and raised her eyebrows. Phil raised his in response.

“So now what?” They asked in unison.

Melinda reached forward and picked up her cup. She took a sip and stared at the large painting on the opposite wall. “Jemma had an idea earlier.” She began leaning back against him and tapping the side of her mug with one finger.

“Hmm,” Phil dropped an arm over her shoulder and nuzzled against her hair. “And what did our resident genius have to say.”

“Well, she seems to think Skye might benefit from a proper pre-primary program. And that is a direct quote.” May smiled.

Phil laughed at the thought of Jemma saying just that then turned serious. “Day Care? Are you talking about Day Care?”

“Well, mostly Preschool, but I guess a little child care might be involved, depending on the time.” She answered a bit confused by his reaction.

“Oh, Mel, you don’t really want to leave Skye in a place like that do you? All those runny nose little kids, running around, screaming and those harried workers…”

“Phil…I think you might be…”

“No, no Mel. People leave their kids there all day, every day. They take advantage of the system; they leave work or quit work and don’t even bother to get them. They take sick kids there and refuse to come for them when they’re called. Geez, Mel, we can’t do that to her.”

Melinda looked at him for a few seconds. “I’m talking about Preschool, Phil. A few hours a day and I would never leave her if I didn’t have to or if she was sick.”

“She’s too young anyway.” Phil breathed, hoping the conversation was over.

“Phil, she’ll be four in a few weeks and some kids start when they’re just three. Jemma’s got a list of places…the best of the best, she says.” 

“Jemma says.”

“Yes”

“Mel, Jemma is nine-years-old.”

“With an IQ higher than most of the people who work for us.”  
“You can work from home, you know.” Phil reminded her.

“With Skye?” She reminded him, raising her eyebrows higher than he thought possible.

“Are you sure?” 

“No”

“We’ll look.”

 

The first facility the Coulsons visited was clean and well run, but there was smell that permeated the entire building. Melinda could not get out fast enough and rode to the next with the windows rolled down in the car, despite the cool weather. The second was large and bright, smelled fresh and quiet…way too quiet. The children moved like little robots and spoke only when spoken to, Phil later said it creeped him out…like Village of the Damned*. 

The rest of the facilities were mediocre at best. On day two, it was much of the same and by midday on the third, they were almost ready to give it up. With three facilities left on Jemma’s list, they walked into the foyer of what looked to be a very promising prospect. The director, Mrs. O’Boyle took them through the many separate rooms in the facility, explaining what was happening in each. She paid special attention to the Preschool Room where Skye would attend if they chose to enroll her there. They met the teacher Miss Tripani and spent half an hour observing the children and their routine. The playground was large and had shady as well as sunny areas with play equipment just the right size for small children.

Mrs. O’Boyle explained parent policies and tuition, and then suggested they bring Skye for a visit. She and one or both of them could spend some time with the group and get a feel for the program. When Phil and Melinda left, they knew they had found what they needed.


	19. Two Different Faces in Just the Right Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye begins preschool on very shaky feet and Jemma comes to a decision

“Are you sure about this Phil? I know you want to see how she does.” Melinda rested her hand on his arm.

He leaned forward and kissed her while securing the knot in his tie. “Mel, she worked hard on this and she deserves to see it though. I can take Skye tomorrow or the next day or even show up early this afternoon.” He pulled on his jacket and kissed her again. “Don’t worry about it.”

She kissed him back and relaxed into his embrace, while at the same time straightening his tie. “But I will worry. I’ll worry all day, until I have them back.”

Phil smiled and hugged her tighter. “Mrs. O’Boyle was kind enough to arrange this for them. I appreciate that…helps me to feel we made the right decision. Anyway, it will only be half a day.”

Melinda let out a long breath. She hoped he was right.

 

They stepped into the kitchen a breath before their whirlwind baby girl zipped in behind them with Jemma in hot pursuit. The aglets on Skye’s sneakers clicked on the tile floor as she raced to the table.

“Skye, stop, you’re going to fall. Your shoes are not yet tied.” Jemma hurried to keep up with the smaller girl who had already climbed onto a chair.

“Look, mama, Jemma putted a uniford on me just like hoewas.” She stood on the chair and puffed out her chest showing off the scarlet golf-T with a bright yellow dragon logo. Her khaki skort was twisted to one side, which was usual for Skye, so were the untied shoes.

“You are just beautiful, angel.” Phil smiled as he kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for helping this morning, Jemma.” He turned and kissed the older girl as well.

Skye looked at Jemma who stood next to her. “They is not shoes, Zemma, they is neekers. Mama buyed them fowa school.” 

Melinda straightened the little girl’s clothing and tucked in her shirt. “You need to sit down so you don’t fall and so Jemma can tie your shoes.” Skye nodded and dropped down on her bottom narrowly missing the edge of the table with her chin. Melinda drew a quick breath and exhaled just as fast. Phil turned with his coffee mug to his lips, wondering why his wife had such a look of fear and relief simultaneously.

Skye stuck out her feet only reaching just past the end of her seat. Jemma tied each slowly, explaining her movements and telling the little girl she could learn to do it herself. Skye nodded as she watched and asked. “Zemma, why you no have a uniford t’day?”

“J-J-Jemma, Skye. Say Jemma.”

Skye giggled. “I sayed Zemma.”

Jemma rolled her eyes and shook her head as Trip and Fitz dragged themselves into the room. Trip stifled a yawn as he slumped into a chair and downed a full glass of orange juice. Fitz dropped his head on the table as soon as he dropped his body into his seat.

Phil smirked as he set plates of waffles in front of each child while Melinda tied a large towel on Skye’s neck to keep her clean at least until her new teacher saw her. She scowled at the boys.

“Up late last night, guys?” She glared as she jostled Fitz, who sat up rubbing his eyes. “I thought the deal was no TV after lights out.”

“Technically we were not watching the telly…” Trip kicked Fitz under the table. “OUCH! Hey, what’s with that?”

“I think that includes video games as well, guys.” Phil informed them as he sat down to his own breakfast. “Maybe putting the TV from Trip’s apartment in your room wasn’t such a good idea after all.” He waited for the boys’ reaction.

Trip and Fitz exchanged quick glances. Trip laughed a nervous laugh and glanced at May before continuing. “It was a slip…time just sorta got away from us. Won’t happen again, swear.” He held up his right hand and bumped Fitz’ foot again.

“Swear,” Fitz repeated around a mouthful of waffles and lifted his hand still holding his fork.

“No, it won’t,” Melinda warned, “and both of you will be in bed right after homework tonight.”

Trip started to protest but felt Phil’s gentle nudge to his foot under the table. He nodded in defeat. Fitz chewed lazily with his eyes closed. He’d catch a nap on the school bus.

 

Phil kissed his girls goodbye and exchanged fist bumps with the boys before leaving for the day. He promised to be home in time to hear all about Skye’s big first day. Trip stuffed his books into his backpack and grabbed his gym bag. He frowned as he squatted down in front of his smallest surrogate sibling.

“Hey, girl,” he pouted as he tickled her belly. Skye rewarded him with a quick giggle as she pushed his hand away. “Sorry, I won’t be here after school…gotta big game this week and need all the practice I can get.” He smiled at the way she crinkled her nose at him. “Now,” he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, “you just save all the best stories for after supper.” He gave her a thumbs-up sign and leaned close, giving May a sideways glance. “You don’t be causing too much ruckus on your first day.” He kissed her again before he stood and turned to Fitz. “Let’s, go little man or you’ll be missing your ride!”

Fitz shouldered his own satchel and reached out to pat the little girl’s head. “Try to be good, Skye. See you later.” He smiled at her and waved at Melinda as he hurried to catch up with Trip who was already out the door.

“Why errybody tell me be good?” Skye scowled, looking up at May. Jemma covered her mouth to suppress the giggle while Melinda just shook her head.

“Okay, ladies, let’s get moving. Don’t want to be late on our first day.” May held Skye’s jacket and helped her to get her arms in the sleeves. Jemma slid on her own coat and then bent to help zip the smaller girl’s jacket. May pulled on her own gear, grabbed Skye’s bag and ushered everyone out the door. 

 

Melinda pulled into the parking lot of Drake’s Academy for Young Learners and grinned at the large yellow friendly dragons emblazoned on the front doors. They were larger versions of the logo on Skye’s polo shirt. She took a deep breath and wondered why this somewhat menial task felt harder than any security detail she had every pulled. She waved at a woman escorting identical twin boys between her car and the next and took a deep breath before glancing at Jemma in the rearview mirror. The older girl had already unbuckled her seatbelt and was attempting to release Skye from her safety seat as well.

Jemma glanced at the mirror. Melinda gave a weak smile and pulled the key from the ignition. She pushed the door open and stood watching a few other parents guide or carry their own progeny through the school’s front door, some a bit older than Skye and other’s considerably younger. The rear door opened and Jemma slid out as Skye walked across the backseat and attempted to jump into the parking lot. May caught her hand mid leap as a woman carrying a squirming toddler bumped into her.

“Oh, excuse me, I am so very sorry.” The woman smiled as she apologized then turned to the child moping behind her. She shifted the toddler to the opposite hip. “Come on, Kristen, Miss Tripani is waiting.” She turned back to Melinda. “First day?”

Skye squinted up at the woman. “I go to school,” she smiled.

Melinda nodded. “Yes, it’s our first day.” She frowned inwardly at the uncertainty in her voice. Lord, she had faced heads of state, argued with society’s divas and stared down pop star princesses but today she felt like she’d crawled inside of someone else’s skin and not only didn’t it fit, but it sagged in all the wrong places.

The other woman smiled and reached for her little girl’s hand. “I remember my first day,” she laughed and shook her head. “I cried all the way to work, looked pretty scary when I got there and then when I came to pick her up, she didn’t want to leave.” She laughed again and placed a hand on May’s arm. “It gets easier, it really does.” May wondered.

Jemma had managed to pull Skye’s bag from the backseat. Melinda hefted it on to her shoulder and followed the mother with two squirming kids across the parking lot.

Miss Tripani greeted them at the door and showed Skye to her cubby that already had a large smiling sun decal with her name in big bold letters taped to the top. She quickly checked to be sure May had provided all of the items required by the preschool and stowed the large bag along with Skye’s jacket in the cubby. Salty’s one-eyed stuffed bunny head lolled out to one side. Skye stared at it for a moment and frowned before the teacher led them to the classroom. After introducing Skye, Jemma and May to the classroom teacher’s aid, Miss Ginny and quickly settling a ruckus between two boys over a pile of wooden blocks, Miss Tripani sat on a small chair and spoke to Skye.

“What do you think you would like to do this morning? We are going to play for about this long,” she held her arms apart about the width of her shoulders, “and then we are going to have circle time and after that we have a nice project to work on before we go outside and then have lunch.” 

Skye looked around the large room at the small groups of children playing in what the teacher called centers. She then looked to May and Jemma who stood against the wall watching her. She blinked away the tears in her eyes and looked down at her brand new sneakers then shook her head. Melinda fought the urge to rush to the little girl. Jemma did not and hurried to her little sister’s aid. She stood behind Skye placing her hands on the smaller girl’s shoulders. Skye quickly turned from the teacher and wrapped her arms around Jemma.

“I be good, Zemma, I be gooder.” She whispered into Jemma’s embrace.

“Of course you will, darling,” Jemma comforted without correcting Skye’s pronunciation of her name. “We know you will.” Jemma smiled at the teacher. “Sometimes she finds it difficult to behave properly, but we are working on it.” Miss Tripani nodded and raised her eyebrows in surprise. This child’s vocabulary was astounding.

Melinda watched the scene, clutching at the pain in her heart. Mrs. O’Boyle and Miss Tripani had asked her to allow them to acquaint Skye with the program and simply to observe unless things were too stressful. Melinda wondered what scale they used to measure that stress because right now she was ready to scoop up her baby and head back to the car. 

Miss Tripani smiled at Jemma and spoke quietly to Skye. “You know everyone makes mistakes sometimes and that’s okay. You don’t have to worry about being good all the time.” A loud crash from the block area and a few angry voices were right on cue. The teacher smiled as she stood. “You see Danny and David are having a hard time in the block center. Would you like to come with me while I see what’s happening?” Skye shook her head with her face still pressed against Jemma’s middle. The teacher stepped away promising to be right back.

“Look, Skye.” Jemma leaned back to allow the little girl to see. “They have the most adorable little kitchen with cupboards and a stove just your size. Perhaps we can see what the children are doing there.” Skye took a quick look and shook her head. Jemma frowned. “I am sure you would have a fine time if you would give it a try. I would like to try.”

Skye looked up for the first time and stared for a moment. “You play too, with me?” Jemma smiled and nodded. 

It was a short distance to the center labeled as ‘Dramatic Play’ with a large colorful banner. Jemma entered the area leading an uncharacteristically timid Skye by the hand. Two little girls and one boy immediately approached them. 

“We playin’ inna kitchen.” The little boy informed her, “you wanna play, too?”

Jemma nodded. “This is Skye,” she dropped her sister’s hand and put an arm around her shoulder. “She likes to make cupcakes.”

“We have cupcake pans!” A chubby little girl with blonde curls smiled. “Skye could be the baker and we could buy them.” She began rummaging through a small chest and produced a child sized cupcake pan complete with little plastic cupcakes. “The frosting comes off and you can put it back on.” She smiled as she demonstrated. 

The other little girl was taller than the rest with a head full of braids and brightly colored hair ponies. Her dark skin made her broad smile look bright. “We have a cake too, with candles.” She frowned, “but they don’t have any fire cuz that’s dangerous. I’m Darienne. Come on, you can play with us, okay.”

Melinda let out the breath she’d been holding as Miss Tripani approached. “It takes a bit for all of them to warm up.” She assured the worried mother. “It’s very normal. Skye’s probably going to keep checking to be sure you are still here and that’s normal too.” She looked at the large clock over the door. “I know you said you plan to leave by lunch time, but please do not sneak out. Tell her you are leaving and assure her you will be back. Until then you are welcome to move around the classroom as much as you’d like.” Melinda nodded and attempted to squash the dread of that moment.

The morning progressed without incident as Skye joined the circle, with Jemma seated next to her. She stood when the teacher introduced her to the class. She completed the pasting project with Jemma’s help and held it up for Melinda’s approval. By the time the children lined up to use the lavatory, put on their jackets and go out into the play area she was fully involved in the class and spending more time with her new friends Dariene, Ryan and Chelsea than with her sister.

Jemma stepped next to Melinda and smiled. “I think Skye will be fine, Aunt Mel. She has even made a few friends.” She nodded toward the small group that chattered away while bouncing and giggling in line. “It might be a good time for us to say goodbye.” She suggested as she reached for Melinda’s hand.

They walked to the small group of children and waited until Skye noticed them. Melinda squatted down and smiled at her. “Skye, I’m so glad you’re happy here and having such a good time.” Skye smiled back. “Jemma and I have to go now, but you’ll be okay with your new friends.” The child’s smile fell and she swallowed hard looking from Melinda to Jemma and then back. Melinda pulled Skye into a hug. “You be a good girl and everyone here will love you.” She hugged her again, then stood. 

Jemma hugged her as well. “Bye, Skye. I’m glad I got to see your school.” Jemma stood back and waved. “I know you’ll be good.”

The line of children started marching toward the door that led to the outdoor play area. Skye moved with it looking back at Melinda until Miss Tripani closed the heavy door.

“That went well,” Jemma smiled as she pulled on her jacket. “And with no tears,” she smiled. “Most small children cry when faced with separation from their primary caregiver. Separation anxiety is one of the most difficult aspects of childcare.” Melinda wondered if that was a good thing.

Melinda wanted to agree that saying goodbye went well, but couldn’t get the Skye’s sad little look as she walked out the door, out of her mind. She told herself she was being overprotective…smothering…reading too much into a child’s exaggerated emotion. This was silly. Skye was safe…she’d had a great morning. She’d have lunch, take a nap and be smiling and happy when May and Jemma returned by three thirty. 

Taking a deep cleansing breath, May smiled and held out a hand to Jemma. “Well, Miss Simmons what do you say to a nice quiet lunch.” Jemma gave a weak smile but took Mel’s hand and nodded. May noticed the hesitation and braced herself for the next hurdle of being a new mother.

 

Melinda peeked over the menu she held at the matching one across the table. She couldn’t see Jemma over it but it had been a few minutes since the waitress had asked if they needed more time to decide…for the third time. “Not seeing anything you like?” she asked the girl.

“Just can’t decide,” came the little voice from behind the laminated form.

“They have a very wide selection,” Melinda pointed out, “the salmon looks good.”

“Yes...yes, it does.” Jemma hedged.

“If you’d like, we can order one dinner and split it.” May suggested.

Jemma lowered the menu. “Oh, no, I certainly wouldn’t want to impose…”

“Jemma Simmons,” May scolded gently. “You are not imposing.”

Jemma took a deep breath. “Everything looks very good, Aunt Mel…but I’m not really hungry right now. It is a bit early for lunch. At school we don’t usually eat for at least another hour.”

May glanced at her watch. “Jemma it’s almost 12:30. I don’t think you have lunch that late.” She put down the menu she held and waved the waitress away. “You ate very little breakfast and that was almost five hours ago.” The girl traced her finger along the pattern on the placement and shrugged her shoulders. “Would you rather go somewhere else? You can choose, even if it’s fast food.”

Jemma shook her head rapidly. “Oh no, Aunt Mel, fast food is notoriously bad for you. It contains…” Melinda held up a hand stopping the girl’s explanation. The girl picked up the menu and began studying it again.

“Jemma,” Melinda began, “I know by now you’ve probably memorized that menu.” The girl did not answer but kept the menu as a shield in front of her. The waitress made her way to the table again. May ordered hot tea for herself and a small milkshake for Jemma. She continued to wait for the child’s response, willing to give her as much time as she needed.

Jemma stared at the colorful pictures on the menu a few inches from her face. She didn’t like lying, knew it was wrong…knew she could and should be punished for it. Her parents would never stand for her lying to anyone, but telling the truth right now was unbearable. She’d carried it all the way from Sheffield, it haunted her everyday and yet she held on to it like a treasure. If she told it would be gone…she would lose the last vestige of her parents, the last memory she had. So with that thought, she chose to lie…to cheat…to do whatever she had to do to hold on.

“Jemma?” May gently tapped the top of the menu.

The girl closed the menu and set in on the table. She smiled across the table. “They have a very nice salad bar. I think I’d like that.” It took a bit of thought but Jemma realized that salad would be the easiest to manipulate, nibble and hide under a napkin.

Melinda glanced at the menu quickly and smiled. “That sounds like an excellent idea.” She motioned toward the very relieved waitress.


	20. And the Walls Come Tumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye's day is not going so well...neither is Jemma's

The line of small children marched in single file until they crossed the threshold and entered the play area. At that point, the mass of red shirts and khaki pants resembled more of a rioting horde as they ran in every direction heading for their chosen play space. Several dashed for the large climbing structure scampering up ladders and wide steps to zip down twisty slides or flip over rings and hand-over-hand rails. Another group snatched multicolored buckets and spades and headed into a large sandy area filled with various sized toy construction vehicles. Still another mounted tricycles and small peddle-cars then traveled around a hard-packed road that wove through the entire playground. 

Skye did not follow the crowd but stepped to the side allowing her new classmates to pass. She pressed herself against the side of the building watching as the teachers moved through the area smiling and chatting with individuals and groups of happily engaged children. Slowly she slid down until her bottom touched the ground and her knees pressed against her chest. She flicked at the small pebbles at her side. Occasionally, she glanced toward the tall fence that surrounded the space. From her point of view, she could not see around the building to where Melinda had parked the car a few hours ago but it didn’t matter, she knew it was gone.

“Hey, there, Skye,” Miss Ginny squatted down in front of her. “Would you like to try one of the bicycles or maybe the sliding board?” Skye shook her head and continued rubbing her hand across the fine gravel. “Well, maybe you could sit on one of the benches instead of here in this dirt.” The woman smiled but the little girl put her head down on her knees and slowly moved it side to side. Miss Ginny tried a different angle. “Did one of your friends make you sad, Skye?” Again, the subtle shake of Skye’s head was the only answer. The teacher rubbed her hand on the little girl’s shoulder causing her to immediately to recoil. She pulled it back quickly. “Okay, Skye, I’ll leave you alone but you can play whenever you want and if you need me or Miss Tripani you just let us know, okay?” Skye shrugged her shoulders. The woman looked at her for a moment and frowned.

Having been in the childcare field for more than twenty years, Miss Ginny was familiar with the various ways new children dealt with their first days at the school. She and Miss Tripani had been informed of Skye’s background. Together they had discussed their plans for integrating her into their class. They had expected a bundle of energy, a little one who would be into everything and giving them a true run for their money. Of course, there was always that honeymoon period until a child felt comfortable enough to show his or her true nature and both felt that might be what was happening. Neither felt Skye was overwhelmed by the number of excited children racing around the playground; after all, she had lived most of her almost four years in a facility filled with other children. Skye was no stranger to large groups. 

Miss Ginny stood and walked away slowly, looking back a few times to check on the little girl who had not moved from her spot on the ground.

Skye didn’t want to pick up her head or watch the children play or do anything they were doing. She knew. She didn’t have to look. There were children running and playing and screaming and laughing and they’d do it until an adult blew a whistle or rang a bell or clapped their hands. Then all the children would line up and go back into the building. She knew because she had seen it everyday until she went to live with the families but it was always there when she went back and she always went back. This wasn’t the right place and these were not the right people. She peered across the wide area and spied a small child-sized playhouse complete with a door and shutters. Picking up her head just enough to check the location of the teachers she pushed herself up and slowly made her way to the little cottage and slipped inside.

The thick plastic buffered the noise of the children outside. The inside of the little house was empty and it was far enough away from the other areas that the children seemed to ignore it. Skye sat in the far corner and pulled herself into ball. She’d stay here, alone, and wait.

It took only a few moments for Miss Tripani to realize the little girl had left her perch and she scanned the playground in an attempt to locate her. She and Miss Ginny walked through the little groups hoping to find she had joined in the play. After a few minutes, they began looking under the climbing structure and in the compartments that made up the apparatus. Miss Tripani walked the length of the playground stopping at the white and yellow play cottage. She peered in the window at the little girl in the corner and shook her head then knocked on the plastic half door.

“Hello! Anybody home?” she called but received no response. She waited a few seconds then tried again. “I was just wondering if anyone had seen Skye.” She watched as the little girl moved her body side to side and pulled her knees closer to her chest. “I was hoping you might have seen her because it’s almost time to go inside and well, I wouldn’t want to forget her.” The teacher waited again and this time heard a soft mumble. She smiled at her success. “I am so very sorry, madam, but I didn’t quite hear you.”

Skye moved her feet forward a few inches and lifted her head just enough to be heard. “I want sisser care.” Her voice was tiny and without emotion. It sounded just a little odd to the seasoned teacher. She expected tears or anger, but not total apathy.

“It will be a little bit before your sister comes for you, Skye.” She explained and watched as Miss Ginny called the children to line up near the door. “Come on, it’s time to go inside now.” Skye stood and followed the teacher to the end of the line never taking her eyes off her sneakers.

 

Jemma pushed the greens around in her salad bowl. She hadn’t taken any dressing, telling May that she just liked a bit of salt and pepper. Melinda nodded her approval as she watched the little girl add fresh cucumbers, bell peppers and a few cherry tomatoes to her lunch. The woman pointed out cheese, croutons and olives, all of which Jemma refused although she did make it a point to take a few individually wrapped saltine crackers. 

Back at the table May munched on her well built salad that included not only greens and the few crudités that Jemma had added to her meal but a bit of crumbled bleu cheese, red onions, broccoli, mushrooms and a variety of other small salad toppings. She watched carefully as the little girl nibbled on the crackers she had painstakingly unwrapped and placed on her plate. Occasionally she put the straw in her small milkshake to her lips but May suspected the girl had not taken any of the sweet liquid. She and Phil had noticed the girl had developed a habit of taking a napkin and wiping her mouth after almost every bite. It was something the girl continued now.

“So, how’s your lunch?” May smiled. 

Jemma made exaggerated chewing motions and nodded before dabbing her mouth with the napkin. “These vegetables are quite fresh. They must purchase them daily.”

“I would suspect.” May agreed.

“Do you suppose Skye is having a good day?” Jemma changed the subject as she moved the lettuce in her small bowl to its farthest edges and stabbed a small cucumber with her fork. She brought it to her mouth and touched the edge of her teeth but did not bite it. Placing the fork on the edge of her plate, she instead picked up a cracker and brought it to the same area on her teeth, nibbling on it carefully.

May watched intently as the girl went through her bizarre eating routine. ‘She is much too young for eating disorders.’ The woman told herself. “You know, Jemma, you have no protein in your meal. Are you sure, you wouldn’t like some cheese or a little bit of chicken? I’m sure the waitress can get us a special order.” She smiled at the little girl who had once again wiped her mouth after taking and embellishing the act of chewing a small piece of lettuce.

Jemma made it a point to swallow, hard, before quickly wiping her mouth and answering. “No thank you, Aunt Mel. This is more than enough.” She pointed to the salad with the tip of her fork and brought the straw of her milkshake to her lips. 

“You know that looks really good. Can I have a taste?” May eyed the chocolaty treat. Jemma nodded and handed the glass to May. Looking into it, the woman could see that no more than a few mouthfuls had been taken. She took a small sip. “Mmmm, good,” she commented as she passed it back. “I remember your mother and I used to stop for milkshakes almost every Friday after classes ended. Chocolate was her favorite.” Jemma gave a weak smile as she took the drink back and set it on the table.

The little girl looked at her meal and tapped her fork lightly on the edge of the plate. She tried to blink away the tears before they fell. She did not want Melinda to see her cry or to know how much she still ached over the loss of her parents. Everything was nice with Phil and Melinda and she did enjoy her new school, but there were times she missed her parents so much she was sure something inside of her was cracking. If someone asked, she would swear to it, even though she knew it was biologically impossible. 

Aunt Mel couldn’t know. She did want her aunt to be angry or to be upset because she thought she was ungrateful. They’d taken her in when they didn’t really need to and brought her all the way across the ocean to live with them. The apartment was small but she didn’t mind sharing, didn’t even mind, too much, when little Skye would wake her with those horrid screams. It was pleasant having other children in the house. She was never alone, but sometimes she just needed to have space just for herself. She so much missed the quiet times she spent in the garden with her mum and when her dad would sing his silly songs while they sat in front of the fireplace in the evenings. She missed her swing in the courtyard and the gazebo on the side. 

Jemma forced a large piece of tomato into her mouth and pretended to chew then brought the napkin to her mouth and slowly spat it out. Before lowering it, she quickly wiped both eyes then picked up her head to see Melinda quietly watching her. She held out a new napkin to the girl.

“You’re going to need this.” She motioned for Jemma to take it. “That one is getting a bit full.”

Jemma blinked a few times then swallowed hard. She was caught.

Skye hung her jacket in her new cubby, just as she was told. She ran her hand over Salty’s fuzzy ear before stepping back into the classroom. She used the bathroom and washed her hands then allowed Miss Ginny to lead her to the table and sat down for lunch. All of the children gathered at the three tables in the room chattering happily. A tall lady with bright orange hair wheeled a metal cart into the room and placed three-sectioned plates in front of each child. Miss Tripani poured milk into small plastic glasses. Everyone folded their hands and said a cute version of grace then picked up their forks and dug into the macaroni and cheese with a side of glazed carrots.

The little girl stared at the plate and watched as Darienne and Ryan, seated on either side of her, enjoyed their meal. She pushed her plate back, folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them, ignoring the teacher’s directions to sit up and try her food. Skye really wasn’t hearing anything. The sounds around her had blurred into an annoying buzz that hurt her ears. She thought she should be crying but no tears would come. She just felt like everything was stuck. 

Miss Ginny stepped behind Skye’s chair, gently brought her to sit up and softly told her it wasn’t polite to lie on the table especially when people were eating. She slid the little girl’s plate in front of her and encouraged her once again to try her lunch. Skye dropped her hands to her lap and shook her head.

“Your belly is going to be hungry, Skye. I think you like macaroni and cheese.” Miss Ginny knelt down to her level. “Why don’t you just taste a little bit?” The woman picked up Skye’s fork and placed one noodle on it then held it out to the girl. Skye turned her head away, passively refusing the food.

“It’s good, Skye,” Darienne spoke as she held a scoop of her own food out to the girl. “Miss Judy makes good food.” She shoveled it into the mouth and smiled.

“Yeah,” added Ryan. “The carrots is good too, cuz they gots sugar on them.” He picked a few up with his fingers and popped them in his mouth despite Miss Ginny’s warning to use his fork. 

The teacher let out a frustrated breath but kept her smile. “How about just some bread?” She pointed to the half slice on Skye’s plate but the girl had turned almost completely around away from the table and hugged the back of the chair.

“You won’t get no zizzert.” A curly-haired little boy on the opposite side of the table informed her. “We having fishtails today.”

“Fruit Cocktail,” Miss Tripani corrected as she approached the table.

“Skye don’t wanna eat nuthin.” Ryan informed his teacher.

Miss Tripani smiled as she moved next to the little girl and turned her around to face the table. “I know you’re new today, Skye and being new is sometimes hard, but you still need to eat. Just a little bit, okay?” She put the fork Miss Ginny had placed on the plate into Skye’s limp hand and helped her to bring it to her lips.

Skye breathed a bit faster and turned her head away for the second time. She let the fork fall from her hand. It hit the edge of the table and bounced to the floor. She balled her fists and held them rigid at her sides. Miss Tripani picked up the fork and walked to the metal cart that was still in the room. She dropped the fork into a large brown bin placed on the bottom shelf and took a clean one from the top shelf. 

“How about we try again?” she smiled as she poked another noodle and began to reach for Skye’s hand. This time the little girl was not so passive. She pushed away from the table, intending only to escape but misjudged and hit her plate sending it across the table and knocking her milk cup, and the cup of the child across the table, over spilling milk into his lap and splashing the child next to him. Skye stood and pushed the plate again sending it off the opposite side of the table onto the floor with a loud crash. Macaroni and carrots tumbled in all directions as children pushed their chairs to get out of the way. 

The curly-haired boy and the little girl from the parking lot that morning let out surprised shrieks that quickly turned to sobbing. Two other children pointed at Skye and announced that she had done it while another little boy kept insisted it wasn’t him.

Skye’s chair had fallen backward and Miss Tripani stepped to the side to avoid a collision with Miss Ginny who had come running from the farthest table. The teacher picked up the chair and took the little girl by the hand leading her away from the table to a barren spot next to the classroom sink. She set the chair upright and helped Skye to sit down on it. She squatted down in from of the child and in a very stern voice told her to take a break so that they could talk about what happened. Miss Tripani then stood and went back to help Miss Ginny clean up the children and the mess.

 

Melinda and Jemma walked in silence through the small park. She’d already told the girl they needed to talk but since leaving the restaurant, they hadn’t said one work to each other. After a few minutes, they stopped and sat on one of the metal benches that faced a small pool. Mid-afternoon on a weekday found the park lightly populated with only a few elderly folks meandering down the pathways and one or two mothers wheeling baby carriages through the area.

Jemma swung her feet back and forth, as she pulled herself as close to the right side of the bench as she could. Melinda crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap carefully observing the small girl. “I’m not angry with you Jemma.” She began. The girl took a deep breath but did not respond. “I am concerned and a bit confused, I guess.” Jemma looked away knowing if she looked into Melinda’s eyes, she would lose the grip she had been holding on her tears and everything that would follow.

“Can’t you tell me what’s wrong, Jem.” Melinda leaned forward trying to look into Jemma’s face. 

Jemma squeezed her eyes tight and felt the tears escape. She quickly brushed them away. “I’m okay, really I am.” Her shaky voice betrayed her. 

“Jemma,” Melinda’s voice was a combination of sympathy and warning. Jemma remembered that tone in her mother’s voice. She swung her feet faster and fought the urge to jump up and run. “Honey, please… I want to help.”

“Really, Aunt Mel, there is nothing wrong.” The girl spoke between short breaths still refusing to turn toward her guardian.

“Jemma, you’re not eating…you haven’t been eating. Don’t you think I’ve noticed?” Melinda tried to be patient, understanding. She slid across the bench next to the girl and wrapped an arm around her. “You can’t keep doing this, Jemma. You’re going to get sick. Come on, sweetheart, talk to me.” She could feel the girl shake as she tried to deny her emotions.

Jemma shook her head. “I’m fine, Aunt Mel. You don’t have to worry. There really is nothing to talk about.” She tried to smile but still refused to look at Melinda.

May closed her eyes and worked at holding on to her temper. Losing it wouldn’t be good for either of them and certainly would not help the situation, but this had gone on long enough. “Jemma,” she took on a firmer tone, “you and I are going to sit here until we get to the bottom of this.”

“We can’t do that, Aunt Mel.” Jemma answered softly. “We have to pick up Skye in a short time.”

“Jemma, let’s not worry about Skye for a while. Let’s worry about you.” 

“You don’t have to worry about me. I…I’m fine…really.” Jemma stressed the word but could not contain the crack in her voice.

Melinda pulled her phone from her bag and punched in a number. She waited two rings for Phil to answer. “No…no, she’s fine but I need you to pick up Skye by 3:30. Miss Jemma and I have some things to work out….okay, thanks…” She hung up and stared at the very stubborn little girl seated next to her. 

 

Skye waited for her teacher to finish cleaning the mess she had made then watched as both teachers placed small mats on the floor throughout the room. The children pulled blankets and sleep toys from their respective cubbies and settled down onto their sleeping areas. Miss Ginny dropped a fuzzy pink blanket that she recognized and Salty onto a mat near the teacher’s workstation. 

“Let’s go, Skye.” Miss Tripani reached out a hand, “it’s time for nap.” Skye took the teacher’s hand and followed her to the restroom with just the right size toilets. The teacher waited for her to finish and helped her to right her clothing and wash her hands. They exited the small room and walked to the mat. Skye dropped down without being told and wrapped her thin arms around the worn bunny. It would be silly to resist the teacher. She was bigger and bigger people just made Skye do what they wanted. She was too little to do anything to change that.

Skye looked at Miss Tripani then turned, buried her face in Salty’s soft fur and breathed in the smell of the apartment and the room she shared with Jemma. She liked that smell because it was better than the way Salty used to smell and she really liked that apartment. She curled up as small as she could make herself and allowed Miss Tripani to tuck the pink blanket around her. She waited for the teacher to walk away even though she really thought she was going to yell at her about what she’d done at the table. The little girl didn’t mean to make a mess. She just wanted them to stop. Tears rolled over her cheeks but Skye cried quietly, the way she had learned to do so she would not wake the other children in the dormitory at St. Agnes. There were no sobs or sniffs, no short breaths or shakes to alert anyone of her tears. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She thought about Sister Clair and how she would give her fresh baked cookies, then sit on the big rocker, and tell her she was so happy to see her again. Here there was no rocker and she didn’t want their cookies. Sister Clair would hug her and kiss her head and tell her it was meant to be and she would believe her because she was her fairy godmother. This time there was no Sister Clair. A loud sob from across the room startled her. She turned toward it.

A little boy sat on his mat sobbing loudly. “I want my mommy!”

“Shhh, shhhh…” Miss Ginny spoke to him quietly, but Skye could hear. “Mommy will be back. Mommies always come back, you know that Matthew.” She helped him to lie back down and covered him with a bright red and blue blanket. It had a train with a very happy face woven into it. The teacher sat on the floor next to Matthew and rubbed circles on his back. 

Skye watched. She suppressed a hiccup. She knew mommies did not come back. Mommies took you back and said good-bye and said you’ll be okay and walked away and you never saw them again. Even the ones you really loved. They said good-bye too. They didn’t come back. She hugged Salty tighter even though his soft fur was wet with her tears. Something inside her body hurt but she didn’t feel sick. A tiny sob escaped, but she rolled away from Miss Ginny and Matthew…off the mat and onto the carpeted floor, kicked off the blanket and drifted into a restless sleep.

 

“Jemma, we are going to sit here all afternoon because I will wait as long as it takes.” May’s tone was probably sterner that it had ever been with the child. Jemma had only heard her aunt speak in that tone once. It was the day Fitz used all those bad words with the man in the courthouse. 

“I…ca…don’t want to talk about it.” Jemma spoke quietly, kicking at the small rocks on the ground under the bench.

“Maybe we should talk to Dr. Stephens…” May started, hoping to suggest the doctor could run a few tests just in case the problem was medical. She knew Jemma would understand and the girl seemed to love anything having to do with the medical field.

“No, no…I’m not sick…it’s not that.” Jemma started to sound anxious. “I just can’t.” She whispered.

“Can’t eat? Can’t tell me? Can’t what, Jemma?” May took the girl’s hand in both of hers.

“I have to wait. I just have to wait.” Jemma insisted pulling her hand away. “You won’t understand.” The tears she had been holding finally fell across her cheeks.

May pulled the small hand back and forcibly turned the girl to face her. Jemma kept her eyes down still refusing to look at her. “Jemma, I will do my best to understand anything, *anything* you tell me. I promise.” She knew how desperate she sounded and just didn’t care. “Please, Jemma. Let me help you.”

The child stood and probably would have run if May wasn’t holding her hand tightly. “You can’t help…no one can help.” Jemma was on the verge of hysterics. May had seen her like this that day in the garden shed. She thought they had gotten past the worst of it then, but here it was again. Jemma finally looked at her, tears streaming across her face a look of total panic in her eyes.

“Jemma, honey, you need to take a deep breath. It’s okay. We’ll get through this. I promise, trust me.” May tried not to sound like she was begging. She pulled the girl back and locked her in a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Melinda.” The little voice was muffled by the hug. “You and Phil are so good to me and you’ve done so much. I don’t mean to worry you or make you angry with me.”

“Jemma, we are not angry with you.” May breathed, “But, we are worried, honey.” Jemma cried hard and May let her, waiting until the girl could speak again. May pulled her onto her lap, something the mostly independent Jemma would not normally allow. She felt herself much too old to be treated as a baby. She took the tissue May offered and dabbed at her eyes and rested her head against the woman’s shoulder.

“When my mum and dad told me they were going to the conference…” Jemma began through her sniffling. She stopped but May did not interrupt. “I…I was angry.” She sobbed deeply and took a few more minutes to continue. “I had a science fair and they were to come, but the conference date was changed and mum told me they were compelled to attend.” She wiped her eyes and nose. “I was so disappointed and they…they promised…they promised me when they came back…” She broke down again and May waited, allowing the child to release the anxiety she had held for so very long.

“It’s okay, Jemma.” May was so familiar with the maturity of this little girl that sometimes she forgot that she was, in fact, just a little girl. Why hadn’t she seen this? Was Jemma that good at hiding her feelings…her pain…or was she that inept at caring for these children? She’d almost screwed up everything with Fitz just a few weeks ago and now she was finding that Jemma had been in so much pain for months.

Jemma sniffled and drew a shaky breath. “We were going to go to London on holiday when they returned. My mum told me not to over-eat because we would go to our favorite eatery, Muriel’s. Mum and I would joke about it because we always ate too much there.” She sniffled again. “We would only nibble before we went…” Again, the child broke down and again Melinda hugged and shushed her softly. Jemma suddenly pushed back and looked at May, her eyes swollen and red. “I can’t eat, Aunt Mel. I have to be ready when my mum comes back, don’t you see. We want to enjoy all of our favorites.”

May looked at the little girl, afraid that she might have suffered a breakdown of some sort but then realized that the child, because Jemma for all of her intelligence was just a child. She had no doubt that the child knew her parents were dead. The little girl had sat stoically at the wake accepting the condolences of friends and colleagues. She walked behind the caskets as the funeral procession made its way to the small cemetery in Sheffield and spoke with the priest for a long period afterward. Before they had left the UK for the states, she and Phil had taken the girl to that same cemetery where Jemma placed two small bouquets against the stone that marked her parents’ final resting place and promised to return whenever she could. She didn’t speak of her parents very often but kept a photograph in a frame next to her bed and sometimes when Melinda came to tuck her in she would tell her little snippets of things they had done together. Never did Melinda expect this memory would bring so much pain.

“Jemma,” Melinda spoke softly as she rubbed the little girl’s back. “You know your parents are not coming back, don’t you.” The child nodded against the woman’s shoulder.

“I just want them to, I want it so much.” She squeezed the words out between her tears. “If I continue not eating…then…then I can believe they’re still on their way to me…I can just hold on to them that much longer. I don’t have to think about…about…” Jemma dissolved into tears.

“Oh, sweetheart…” May did not know what to say or how to take this pain away. “I know you hurt and you want them to be with you. I know it’s hard for you.” She hugged and rocked the child, kissing her head and rubbing her back until the sobs became sniffles.

“I just don’t want to let go of them yet.” Jemma whispered. 

May squeezed her and kissed her again. “Jemma, sweetie, you don’t ever have to let go of your parents. You’ll always have them in your memories and in your heart and someday all those memories that make you so very sad will bring you joy. You’ll think about them and you’ll smile.” She wondered where she’d gotten the wisdom.

“I…I don’t think I should be happy…not without them.” Jemma sniffed as she accepted a clean tissue from May.

She kissed the girl again and smiled. “Of course you should be happy, sweetie. Don’t you think your parents would want that?”

Jemma wiped her nose and shook her head, “not without them.”

“I think that’s what they wanted most for you. I know they did.” May spoke as she rested her chin on top of Jemma’s head. She knew this little girl longer than all of the other children. When Elizabeth went into labor, it was May who drove her to the hospital and stayed with her until Ben arrived. May was the first one to hold the pinkest little baby she’d ever seen, after her parents had had the honor. May fed her and changed her and stood for her as she was baptized. That tiny bundle was the reason she and Phil had decided to start a family of their own. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that family would begin with the same little girl…a little girl without Elizabeth or Ben…her parents.

“I don’t know how, Aunt Mel. I don’t know how to be happy anymore.” Jemma sighed.

Melinda smiled. “Well, I think that eating more than a few crackers every day might be a place to start and I think that is going to start today.”

Jemma nodded and swallowed hard. “Are you about to punish me? I know my mum would be terribly angry about my behavior.” Once again, she failed to make eye contact with Melinda.  
“Well…tonight you are going to eat a whole bowl of chicken noodle soup with absolutely no crackers and you will have dessert. I might even insist you have a snack before bed.” She felt the girl giggle against her chest. It brought a warmth to her that she didn’t expect. She gave the girl a soft pat on the bottom. “Now, consider yourself punished.”

Jemma giggled aloud and wrapped her arms around Melinda in a tight hug.


	21. Silence is Not Always Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil picks up Skye and deals with her anxiety

Phil sat in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He glanced from his watch to the tangle of vehicles ahead of him…3:50... He’d called the preschool at 3:20 to let them know a briefing had run a bit longer than usual and he would be a few minutes late picking up Skye. The secretary was pleasant enough but informed him that Mrs. O’Boyle would like to speak to him before he collected his daughter. He had hoped Skye would have a good first day and didn’t want to imagine what the rambunctious little girl had done in the few hours she had been in care. He called again at 3:45 when he was forced to take a detour to avoid whatever had caused the blockage on the expressway, however everyone else had taken the same detour and traffic was at a standstill no matter what route he chose. ‘Great first impression…’ he mused as he considered calling the school again, and then felt that maybe they’d think he was a bit obsessive. He wasn’t sure what had come up with Melinda but he hoped she was not at home wondering why he had not yet arrived with Skye in tow. With any luck, he could get home first and avoid the accusing stares. Geez, why didn’t he just cut that meeting short and leave early? It was 4:05 when he finally pulled into the school’s parking lot.

Phil hurried into the building, holding the door for a frazzled looking woman ushering three overly excited little boys of varying sizes out the door. She pushed her hair back and thanked him as she tried to hold on to the smallest child and reach for the others. He smiled and silently wished her luck. He side-stepped another mother carrying a tearful toddler and leading an older boy who rambled on about not getting a turn to ride the red bike and how he was going to be first when he came back. He wondered what kind of stories his little one would have to share. 

The secretary looked up when he rang the bell then pushed open the sliding glass window that separated her office from the foyer. She smiled as she asked if she could help, and then asked for his identification. Phil pulled out his billfold and produced his driver’s license rather than using his agency ID. That usually caused too many questions and more than a few fearful stares. He waited a few minutes for the director of the facility to greet him strolling around the large foyer examining pictures of the children at various functions and activities along with framed licenses and accolades the program had received.

“Mr. Coulson, it’s good to see you again.” Mrs. O’Boyle greeted him as she opened the office door and waved him inside. Phil brushed off the feeling of being sent to the principal’s office and the sense that this was probably not a good thing. After a few pleasantries and exchange of greetings the woman continued. “I just wanted to speak with you before you went into the classroom. Miss Tripani informed me that we had a little accident during lunch today.”

Phil immediately reacted. “Is Skye alright? Was she hurt? Why weren’t we called?” 

Mrs. O’Boyle held up a hand and smiled knowingly. “No, Mr. Coulson, not that kind of accident. Skye is fine. She wasn’t hurt. Just a bit of a spill…Skye pushed a plate to the floor and caused quit a stir at the lunch table. We are sure it was just an accident, but children have a tendency to announce any and every little mishap to parents as they enter the room. We didn’t want you overwhelmed with a crowd of little informants as soon as you open the door.” She laughed a warm laugh.

Phil breathed a sigh of relief and laughed as well. “Thanks for the warning.” He took a minute to compose himself then continued. “Otherwise, how’d she do today? No major catastrophes I hope.”

“Actually no, it was a very quiet day.” The director assured him. “Skye was fine all morning. She was adjusting well.” Phil smiled at the good news. “After your wife and older daughter left, she became very withdrawn. I don’t think she’s said more than three words since.”

Phil had expected a plethora of comments on his little girl after her first foray into the childcare world but going dark was not one of them. Skye was…well she was Skye. She ran. She jumped. She climbed. She asked questions. She touched everything. She made messes. She did not sit and she was never, ever quiet. 

Mrs. O’Boyle read the look on the new father’s face and smiled again. “There’s no need to worry, Mr. Coulson. This is her first day and all children are different. I understand that she hasn’t been with you very long and you aren’t familiar with all of her reactions, but I think she’ll be okay. How ‘bout we go get her?” She stepped around Phil and pulled the office door open.

 

Skye had not really slept during naptime. She closed her eyes and rested quietly. She might have even dozed off a few times, but she never actually let herself relax enough to sleep. Matthew had cried most of naptime. Miss Ginny and Miss Tripani took turns patting his back and telling him that his mommy would come back for him. Skye knew mommies did not come back and she wondered why they kept saying they did. When the lights were turned on and the children started to rouse and sit up on their respective mats, Skye remained curled up with Salty under the blanket that one of the teachers had put over her again. She stayed that way until Miss Ginny gently shook her and told her it was time to get up.

All of the children helped to fold their mats and carry their blankets and sleep toys back to their cubbies. Miss Ginny asked if she’d like to help put away her blanket and mat. When the little girl gave no response, the teacher collected the items and reached for the stuffed bunny. Skye clutched it to her and turned away. “Skye, we put our sleep huggies away after naptime. Do you want to carry your bunny to the cubby and tuck him back in your bag?” Skye shook her head refusing to relinquish the toy. She scooted off her mat and pushed the pink blanket into a ball next to it. She sat cross-legged on the floor with Salty in her lap. She wrapped her arms around the bunny that was just a few inches smaller than she was, and stuck her thumb into her mouth. Skye didn’t really suck her thumb, just held it there when she was overwhelmed. Sister Mary Clair always recognized the sign. She’d pull Skye into her lap and sing to her until the little girl was able to cope once again. It always happened when a family brought her back…when they didn’t want her anymore.

After refusing snack, Skye was content to hug her bunny and sit at the table closest to the classroom door. She watched as Darienne’s mommy arrived and wrapped the little girl in a happy hug. The mommy spoke to Miss Tripani and they laughed while Darienne put on her coat and held up her project from the morning for her mommy to see it. Ryan’s grandma came next and told him they would put his project on the refrigerator and show it to his mommy when she got home later in the evening. One by one, the children’s parents arrived and greeted them with hugs and kisses. Skye pushed Salty into a lump on the table and rested her head on it, thumb still in her mouth. She watched the door and wondered what would happen when all of the children were gone. Kristen’s mommy had tried to keep her little brother from toppling a block tower then quickly hurried them out the door. Chelsea took her daddy’s hand and led him to the table, pointed at Skye and announced it was she who dumped milk all over her new shoes at lunchtime. The daddy said it was okay because it was just an accident. He smiled at Skye but she didn’t smile back. 

Miss Tripani put on her jacket and spoke to Miss Ginny so quietly Skye could not hear then she picked up a large bag and waved to the children telling them she would be back in the morning. Skye wondered where she was going and why she would come back. Soon there were only a few children left in the room. The classroom door opened again and the lady from the office walked it. Skye wondered whom she would take then realized she was coming toward her. She didn’t want to go with the office lady. Offices weren’t nice places. She didn’t like Sr. Daniel’s office. She had to sit there once because she bit Hailey. Hailey squeezed her face, but Sr. Daniel didn’t know that. She just gave Skye a hard slap and made her sit on the big chair in her office for a long time. She never bit anyone again but she wouldn’t tell Hailey she was sorry, even after Sr. Daniel hit her again. 

Skye knew she’d been very bad at lunchtime. The teacher didn’t yell just made her sit by herself for a little bit. She told her it was just an accident but that she needed to be a little more careful and use her words. Skye didn’t want to use her words because she was afraid she would yell and scream and then the teacher would know she could be really bad. Then the teacher would be mad. She probably told the office lady about what happened and now she was going to take her. Skye pulled Salty from the table and stood up knocking the chair she’d been sitting on over in the process. 

The office lady was smiling, but that didn’t mean she was happy because lots of times bad things happened when people smiled. “Skye, look who’s here,” she almost sang as she stepped aside and Skye could see behind her.

“Daddy,” Skye breathed in a hushed whisper, but stood still.

 

Phil knew something was wrong when he stepped through the door. Skye usually plowed into to him as soon as she spied him. She would jump and giggle until he scooped her up over his head and then pulled her into a tight hug. He watched as that exuberant little girl stared blankly at the tabletop. He’d never seen her suck her thumb or carry that scrawny bunny around. It usually sat on her bed throughout the day, in fact she would check several times to make sure it was there. Whenever the family would leave the apartment for any reason Skye’s last action before leaving was to check to be sure Salty was safe, but she never played with the toy or hugged it like she was doing now. Something about it broke his heart. 

Stepping around the director, Phil hurried to his little girl and knelt in front of her placing his hands on her upper arms and looking into her sad eyes. Skye looked hollow, as if someone had taken everything that was her out and left her empty. She didn't smile but she wasn’t frowning either. It was as if there was nothing, no emotion, no reaction. “Angel, it’s okay…daddy’s here.” He gathered her into his arms, bunny and all. Skye rest her head on his shoulder, slowly relaxing into his embrace. She wrapped one arm around his neck but held tightly to Salty with the other. 

“Daddy,” she whispered again. “Daddy,” broke into a quiet sob and he knew she was crying.

“It’s okay, angel.” He whispered back as he stood and moved toward the door. Someone handed him the girl’s jacket as he left the room.

 

It took a bit of convincing to get Skye into her seat. She refused to let go of Phil or the bunny she still clung to it like a little vice. Once she was strapped in he spoke quietly to her telling her how happy mama and the other kids would be to see her and how they were having her favorite for supper. He sang her favorite silly songs and checked in the rearview mirror every few seconds to be sure she was listening. Before they entered the expressway, she was asleep. He carried her into the apartment intending to lay her in her bed, but once again, she held tight and whimpered when he attempted to put her down. Dinner would definitely be late. He sat back on the couch with the little girl in his lap, still clutching her bunny.

Skye opened her eyes slowly, picked up her head and took in the familiar surroundings. She sat up and loosened her grip on the bunny she still held. She was in the apartment, on the couch. She could see the bright blue pillows and smell the pancake syrup they had for breakfast. She could feel daddy’s jacket under her cheek. This was home. It wasn’t school and it wasn't St. Agnes’. This was where she stayed with Jemma and Fitz and Trip. This was where mama tucked her into bed and read her stories. This was where daddy made pancakes and lifted her high up to the sky. This was where Fitz let her play with his legos and didn’t yell if she knocked them down. This was where Jemma showed her pictures of trees and flowers and told her all the names of the animals in her books. It was where Trip tickled her belly and called her his girl. This was home…this was safe…this was forever, mama told her this was forever. She reached out with one hand and gently patted Phil’s chest, just to be sure he was there for real.

“Hey, there angel eyes,” Phil smiled at her. “Have a nice sleep?”

“We home?” The little girl asked, not picking up her head or moving from her spot against his chest.

“We are.” He assured her rubbing her back gently.

“I stay here?” She asked quietly, lowering her eyes. “I be bad t’day. I sorry, daddy. I go back now?”

Phil looked at her for a moment trying to piece together her three-year-old logic. “Go back where, angel?” He asked, raising her chin with two of his fingers. 

“Sisser Care come get me now?” She sighed and he understood.

Pulling her to him in a quick hug, Phil kissed her forehead. “Nobody is coming to get you, Skye because I am keeping you. You are my little angel.” He snuggled her closer to him.

Skye frowned. “I be bad, daddy.” 

Phil pulled a pout face. “I know, but it was an accident. Everybody has accidents and spills.”

A large tear rolled over the little girl’s cheek. “You spank me, daddy?” It was such a soft whisper Phil almost didn’t hear and truly didn’t believe she’d even think he would.

“What…no, no angel baby, no.” He squeezed her and kissed her several times. “It was an accident, Skye.” Phil held her and rocked her until she calmed. Skye was quiet for a long time. “Tell, daddy why you’re so quiet today. Does something hurt?” She shook her head. “You didn’t like school?” Another shake of the little girl’s head and Phil was running out of guesses. “Did something bad happen?” He waited but she didn’t reply until she took a shaky-sniffly breath.

After a few minutes Skye sniffled a bit and looked at her bunny, hugging him and wiping her tears on his soft fur. “Mama taked Salty to school and say bye to me.” She said softly to the rabbit rather than to her daddy.

“Mama taked…took Salty?” Phil needed a little clarification. He didn’t know a lot about children, especially tiny children but he had a feeling he knew where this was leading. Skye nodded vehemently. “Mama’s not supposed to take Salty?” She shook her head with just as much enthusiasm.

“Salty stay heerow. Salty not go to anywhere. Ownee when I goes” She informed him poking a finger at her own chest.

“I see,” he nodded. “But, I thought Salty stayed with you, that you hugged him when you went to sleep. Maybe, mama thought you needed him for naptime.” Phil took the rabbit’s stuffed paw and waggled it a bit.

Skye watched Phil wiggle the bunny’s limb and shook her head again. “Salty stay heerow. I hug Salty ownee in my bed. Salty stay thereow.” She explained spreading her little fingers and patting the air gently as if making a point. “Ownee I take him. Ownee when you take me back.” The little girl turned her head to one side and looked into her daddy’s eyes begging him to understand.

The light came on; Phil knew what Skye was trying to tell him. Salty was her anchor. As long as the stuffed rabbit remained on her bed, in her room, in this apartment, Skye felt safe. She knew she would stay. The toy was the one thing that traveled with her through all the families that had fostered her. When they returned her to St. Agnes, Salty went too. When she went to a new family, when she arrived here with them, Salty arrived too. When Melinda innocently packed the rabbit in Skye’s school bag, the little girl understood it to mean she was being sent away. Salty was much more than a stuffed toy and he would never be treated that way again.

Phil turned the bunny toward him and spoke to it directly. “Well, Salty I think it’s time you got back to your station and stay there because neither you, nor my little angel girl are going anywhere. I will speak to mama myself and tell her that you are assigned to Skye’s bed and that you will be staying there.” He took the rabbit’s paw and moved it to a salute position. He looked to Skye who was watching silently. “Maybe you should put him back where he belongs so he can relax for a while.” He handed the bunny back to her.

Skye wriggled off Phil’s lap and ran to her room, taking Salty with her. She placed the bunny on her pillow and hurried back to her daddy, pouncing on him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “We gotz a kanarude in my school, daddy, but it no jumps high.” She nodded her head at his look of ‘really’.

The front door opened. “Mama!” Skye shrieked as she slid from Phil’s lap and ran to greet the woman who had stepped into the room. Melinda scooped her up and kissed her several times before looking into her eyes. “Mama, you no take Salty to school no more.” She scolded.

Melinda furrowed her brows and looked past the child to Phil who had turned and was watching from the couch. He stood and walked toward them, placing an arm around Jemma who was also watching the exchange. He bent and kissed the top of the girl’s head. “Hey, princess how ‘bout taking Skye and helping her change her clothes.” He took the smaller girl from her mother’s arms and set her next to Jemma. “Don’t want to get your uniform all dirty. Go with Jemma, angel.” 

Skye turned and took the older girl’s offered hand. “Zemma, we gotz a kanarude in my school.” She babbled as they walked away.

Melinda and Phil watched as they disappeared down the hall then turned to each other and said at the same time.

“We have a lot to talk about.”


	22. This was odd, because it was the middle of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May and Phil talk a bit and have some time to themselves
> 
> This chapter is a bit short and comes with a bit of a warning - just a bit racy, nothing explicit but a lot implied. If this is something that may offend you, please skip this chapter. It shouldn't effect the continuation of the story. I've really never ventured into this genre so be gentle.

While parents intend to have deep and meaningful discussions in an effort to be the best they can be it is often times impossible due to the presence of children. The Coulson household was no different. A wail from the girl’s room sent Melinda to investigate and both boys arrived home within ten minutes of each other. Dinner had to be prepared, served and then cleaned. There was homework and baths and stories to be read. Phones and video games and trips to the bathroom and the need for one more drink of water delayed the conversation these parents very much needed to have. Except for the few bits of information shared over serving spaghetti and washing dishes and working out algebra problems the only progress they were able to make was to let each other know that they’d made some progress with the girls’ issues.

Now, in the darkness and quiet of their own bed Phil and Melinda took a moment to catch their breath. Each waited for the other to begin, each lost in an imaginary dialogue with the other. On top of everything the day had handed them, there was always more. 

Trip had sprained his ankle on the basketball court and limped home. He’d chosen not to tell his coach or anyone else for fear he’d be benched for the weekend’s big game. Phil insisted they have it x-rayed, but after a quick check by May they settled for an ice pack and an ace bandage. It was a lovely shade of purple, but the boy could walk and the swelling had gone down considerably by the time he’d said goodnight. 

Fitz was quieter than usual and ate very little. A quick temperature check had him in bed with a call to Dr. Stephens who would see him first thing in the morning. It did not sound serious but it wouldn’t hurt to check. The doctor suspected an ear infection and advised a bit of pain reliever that would also help bring down the fever. The little guy fell asleep on his chemistry notebook insisting he had to finish his homework before he could rest. Phil carried him to his bed and was able to get him into pajamas and under the covers without waking him.

Jemma ate a full bowl of chicken noodle soup, the kind that comes in little envelopes. Spaghetti was not something she could handle just yet. She did sample the garlic bread and a small serving of ice cream as dessert. May watched her carefully and helped her to keep her napkin away from her face unless absolutely necessary. The little girl took an unusually long time to finish such a meager meal, but she did finish. 

Skye was famished after eating no lunch and what didn’t make it into her mouth was everywhere else including her face, shirt, arms and any other place that wasn’t covered by her clothing. May never could understand how the child got food under her as the chair and the seat of Skye’s jeans were covered with bits of bread, noodles and ground beef. Skye did not need a bib. She needed a poncho and a drop cloth. How could one little girl make so much mess? The sauce on the floor did not help matters when the child slipped on the slick spot smacking her mouth on the edge of the table. The ensuing drama lasted until May was able to pry the sauce-sticky child from her neck and get her into the bath. Amazingly, the magic cure was an ice cube wrapped in a washcloth that Skye held to her lip then sucked on until it completely dissolved. Other than a tiny cut on her lower lip, no damage was done and it was unanimously agreed that she would live to see another day.

May took deep breath and exhaled loudly. It had been four days since Skye’s screams had woken the family and she hoped tonight would be number five. They’d never made it to five before so it didn’t look very promising.

Phil turned on his side, set his elbow in his pillow and raised himself up to rest on his hand. He stared at his wife in the bluish light of their room. “So, Jemma had a break through?”

Melinda sighed and turned to look at him. “I know how smart she is, how independent she wants to be…I just forget sometimes that she is still just a little girl. She was so upset, so broken hearted. I just want to take all the pain away and I can’t. I don’t know how to help her.”

“I think just being there was a start.” Phil suggested as he reached out to twirl the end of her hair in his fingers. “It’s all we can really do.”

“She thought she could pretend her parents were still alive. Not eating was part of that. I can’t believe we didn’t see there was a problem. My god, Phil, what took us so long? What do we think we’re doing? We have no training for this, we’re…”

He cut her off with a soft kiss. “Kids…don’t…come…with…directions.” He kissed her again and again, leaving her speechless as he continued. “It’s all trial and error, Mel. Parents don’t have all the answers and dear god, they are never perfect. Parents make mistakes, Mel.” He kissed her again.

“They shouldn’t,” she breathed as he moved to kiss her neck and collar bone. She trembled with her need for him, but stifled the feeling in an effort to finish this first. 

“You need to relax. Things will work out. They have so far.” He pulled her closer to him. She put both hands on his chest to stop his advance and almost laughed at his pout.

“Phil, look at what happened to Skye today. Sweet Jesus, I could have traumatized that baby.”

“There’s no way you could have known about Salty.” He rolled to his back and lay next to her, just a little frustrated by her temporary rejection, but he supposed that was one of ‘perks’ of having children. “What the hell kind of a name is that, anyway?” They both laughed silently.

“It’s not like she ever told us anything about that scrawny thing, hell it looks like it’s seen two lifetimes. There’s no way she wore it to that state in four years. Geez, she was an infant for most of that time. It’s almost as big as she is now. I can’t see her dragging it around as a tiny toddler.” Phil pondered.

“That’s just it, Phil, we never even asked about it.” Melinda now rested on her hand and looked down at him.

He folded his hands over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “Mel…have you ever had a serious discussion with Skye about…anything?”

Melinda couldn’t resist. She slapped his arm. “I meant Sr. Mary Clair.” She turned up one side of her mouth and shook her head.

“Well, yeah, there’s that.” He agreed. “Maybe a phone call might shed some light on the Salty story. Huh, maybe he’s some old sea captain with a whale of a tail to spin.”

She slapped him again.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. She smiled as they came nose to nose then kissed him. He returned the kiss and rolled her back until she was under him. She moaned under his weight, loving him and his valiant attempt at parenthood. He held her together and kept her on track. He always had. He supported her, pushed her, and stood by her. She did the same for him. She could not imagine life without Phil Coulson. He was meant to be a father and she saw that in him every day. She loved him more for that. She wrapped her arms around him as he kissed the hollow of her neck and slid his hands beneath her nightgown slowly taking it up and over her head without disturbing their passion.

She pulled him back to her and kissed his lips, sighing as he pulled her even closer. She was his everything. Even her anxiety over her newfound mothering skill caused him to need her more. He loved the way she spoke to their children, how she corrected them and praised them and found the best in every one of them. This was the woman he had promised to love and to cherish and he did, every minute of every day. The soft sounds that came from her awakened his need for her and brought it to a frenzy. Yes, children were an odd kind of perk, but all of them were asleep and this was their time. Their time to be more than parents, to be a man and a woman deeply in love even after all the years and all the stress and chaos of life. He laid back and pulled her with him until she lay on him and they became one.

 

At 3:15 Skye’s scream of, “MAMA!” jolted both parents from sleep. Both stumbled from the tangle of sheets and blankets. May found her feet first and hurried to the door stopped by Phil’s frantic call before she turned the knob. 

“You need this,” he almost laughed as he threw a robe to her then pulled on a pair of sweats. She looked down at her naked body, rolled her eyes and stuffed her arms into the garment, pulled it closed and cinched the belt.

“MAMA! MAMA!” Skye’s terrified wail echoed loudly as May pulled the door open and hurried into the hallway.

“Well, that’s new.” Phil mused as he made his way to the other kids, hoping to get them back to sleep before they left their beds.


	23. When You're Hot, You're Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye makes a tentative trip back to school, Trip's been injured and Fitz is a very sick little boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this story comes from a conversation between a friend who is a nurse and her sister who is a first time mom. The baby was feverish and when big sis told her what she needed to do, the younger mother's reaction was priceless. It isn't meant to be funny and certainly a sick child, never is, but this young mother was quite disturbed and almost needed a doctor herself.

Morning found most of the Coulson family out of sorts. Skye was cranky and anxious. She had not gone back to sleep for more than an hour and then spent the rest of the night in her parents’ bed which in turn led them to a serious lack of restful sleep. Trip found his ankle swollen and painful upon waking and could barely put pressure on it. This only added to his anxiety over playing in his basketball game on the weekend. He argued vehemently that he could ‘walk it off’ only to be overruled by Phil who now just as vehemently insisted it be checked by a doctor. This would not be a problem, as a still feverish Fitz would be seeing Dr. Stephens by nine. Jemma had managed to sleep the rest of the night but still struggled with reacquainting her system to the art of proper eating. Anticipating breakfast was enough to dim her usually bright persona. 

“I think you ought to check on the little guy. He’s not lookin’ too good.” Trip grumbled as he limped to the table and lowered himself into his chair.

Phil put down his coffee mug and motioned to Melinda that he would go. She in turn struggled with getting breakfast into the two girls who had very little interest in French Toast Sticks on this morning. Trip also fingered the food but showed no interest in consuming it.

‘It’s only Tuesday,’ Melinda groaned to herself. Before she could ask what else could go wrong, Phil’s concerned voiced called from the boys’ room. With a quick request for Trip to ‘keep an eye on the girls’, she excused herself to face the next catastrophe of the day.

“He feels awful warm to me,” Phil stated quietly as they passed in the doorway.

Melinda sat on the edge of the lower bunk and laid the back of her hand on the boy’s forehead. She frowned then leaned forward and pressed her lips to his head. The boy opened red-rimmed eyes and attempted to speak but only managed a choked whisper. Melinda shushed and reassured him that she’d help him feel better, and then turned to Phil.

“I need to call Dr. Stephens. I think he’s worse than last night. This is much more than an ear infection.” Melinda said with mock authority. She didn’t know a lot about kids getting sick or how severe an ear infection could be, but it did not seem that a problem in the ear could make a little guy look as bad as Fitz did right now.

 

“How high is his temperature?” Dr. Stephen’s calm voice did nothing to quell Melinda’s worry. In fact, it was beginning to infuriate her. Fitz was damn sick and this doctor was just taking it in stride. She tried to keep her head and not be distracted by the sounds of something crashing in the kitchen, followed by Skye’s familiar wail. Hopefully, Phil could handle whatever it was. 

“He’s hot, very hot.” Melinda almost growled.

The doctor remained calm, apparently familiar with overly concerned mothers, even those whose new arrivals weren’t quite infants. “You need to take his temperature, Melinda.”

“He can barely hold up his head, doctor, let alone hold a thermometer under his tongue for any amount of time.” Melinda spoke rapidly, her emotions betraying her. “I have one of those little temperature strip things. I don’t trust that ear thing. It says the kid’s on fire or has gone terminal. It never works right.” Melinda’s temper was getting very short. She hated that damn little electronic thermometer. She’d used on Jemma a few weeks ago and it read a temp of 88 degrees. A few seconds later, it read 104. She was tempted to stomp on it before Phil appeared with a glass thermometer and found the girl had a low-grade fever that a dose of acetaminophen took care of quickly. She was barely listening as the doctor continued giving relaxed instructions.

“We need an accurate temp reading, you’ll have to do it rectally.” The doctor stated with practiced composure. The line went silent as the statement made its way through Melinda’s fury. “Mrs. Coulson…, Melinda are you there?” Now, she sounded slightly concerned.

Melinda cleared her throat. “I beg your pardon.” She tried to keep the squeak out of her voice. “You expect me to… No, there has to be another way. That is just not happening.”

“Melinda, listen to me,” the doctor’s voice calm but firm. “When you first came to our office you were given a small white case. It’s a sort of a home emergency kit for all new patients, especially new moms. In it, you’ll find everything you need. I will walk you through this. You can do it.” 

Melinda was shaking her head, adamant that she was not about to take this step into motherhood. No, no, no…Fitz was not an infant…not a baby…not even a toddler…she was not about to put anything…there…. The boy moaned and let out what might have been an attempt at crying. She could see the tears on his flushed face. He turned on his side and put a hand to his ear. She knew he was in pain.

“How about I give him some Tylenol® and meet you in your office.” Melinda suggested as a last ditch effort.

“If Fitz would be better off in the ER, I’d like to know before you make the trip.” The doctor stated. “This is the best way.”

Melinda had already walked to the master bath and pulled the white case from the medicine cabinet. She flipped through the items inside and pulled out what she needed. She absolutely did not want to do this and for a moment considered calling for Phil, then remembered how squeamish he had been when she had to remove a splinter from Trip’s knee a few weeks ago. This would put him right over the edge, but on the other hand, she knew he’d support whatever she needed to do to help their son. This wasn’t a ‘want to’, this was a ‘have to’, a difference she tried to explain to the children on several occasions. ‘I know you don’t want to go to bed but you have to so you won’t be tired in the morning.’ She’d told Skye almost every night. ‘Homework is never something you want to do, Trip, but it is something you have to do,’ was the mantra over History and English assignments. ‘And you sure don’t want to do this,’ she told herself now, ‘but it has to be done and you’re the only one to do it. You’re his mother. You ‘have to’.”

Melinda took a very deep breath as she reentered Fitz’ room and quietly shut the door. “Okay,” she looked from the instruments in her hands to the very sick little boy lying on the bed, “I’m ready…”

Melinda vowed she’d never put herself or her child through that again, though poor lethargic Fitz put up no fuss other than a pitiful whimper. One hundred-two point nine, almost one hundred-three was the final result. The doctor agreed to see Fitz immediately. She would be at her office to meet Melinda as soon as she could get there. She agreed to see Trip as well. There was a radiology lab in the same building.

 

Phil would take the girls to their respective schools while Melinda got the boys to the doctor’s office. He hoped Jemma would be a help in dropping off Skye, so he chose to drive to the preschool first. Just as Melinda had done the day before he was soon involved in the hustle and bustle of getting little ones into classroom, out of jackets and coats and involved in the routine. Skye clung like a spider monkey, wrapping her arms and legs around him and refusing to let go.

“I go with you and Zemma,” she whispered in Phil’s ear as he carried her through the front door.

“I think you’ll have more fun here.” He whispered back. She shook her head and refused look up from where she buried her face in his neck. 

“Good morning, Skye,” Miss Ginny smiled as they entered the classroom. “Hello, Jemma,” she laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “This must be daddy.” She smiled from the girl to the gentleman ensnared by a familiar small student, “good morning, Skye. Good morning, Mr. Coulson.” Phil nodded.

“We need to put Skye’s things into her cubicle.” Jemma informed Phil since he looked rather lost. She took his hand and led him into the small room off the classroom where the children and their parents were hanging up jackets and stowing belongings. 

Phil knelt on the floor, extracting his small daughter from his body and standing her in front of him. He unzipped her jacket and slid it off her shoulders. “You know,” he spoke quietly, “we all said bye-bye to Salty this morning and he is expecting us home before Sesame Street© starts. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him, now would we?” He smiled as he tapped the end of her nose with his fingertip. 

“You stay with me?” Skye sniffled as a lone tear snuck over her cheek. Phil wiped it away and pulled her into a hug.

“Daddy can’t stay angel. I have to take Jemma to school and go to work.”

Skye looked over Phil’s shoulder at Jemma who had been standing behind watching. “Zemma, not stay with me t’day.”

“Not today, angel eyes. Jemma has to go to her school.” He set her back, stood and took her hand. “So let’s go say hi to your teacher.”

Skye took her father’s hand and reached for Jemma’s. Miss Tripani was waiting. “Time for Daddy and Jemma to go now, Skye,” she smiled and reached for the little girl’s hand. “Best to go as quickly as possible, Mr. Coulson.” She told him in a soft voice as she took Skye’s hand. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”

The little girl pulled free of her teacher and wrapped herself around her father’s leg. Phil gently pulled her free and bent down to hug her one more time. “I love you, Skye. I will be back. I promise. You be a good girl.” He quickly kissed her on both cheeks and stepped back as Jemma squeezed her tightly.

“We will always come back for you Skye. We love you very much.” She squeezed her and kissed the top of her head then hurried to join Phil as they exited the room.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, Uncle Phil.” Jemma reassured him as she took his hand and squeezed it just as tightly as she had hugged her little sister. He smiled at the little girl. Skye probably would be fine but he wasn’t quite convinced about himself. He guessed that dropping off a child was something you needed to get used to…maybe just as much as Skye needed to get used to being dropped off. 

 

Melinda debated on whether to force Fitz into clothing or just wrap his jacket around his PJ’s and carrying him to the car. Getting both boys to the car would not be easy so she opted for the latter and pulled a warm pair of socks and sneakers on the little boy’s feet without waking him. Trip alternated a painful limp and a one legged hop, grumbling under his breath about having to see a doctor and protesting x-rays until Melinda threatened to just call the coach and let him know the boy would be out of commission for the game.

She pushed Fitz’ arms into his jacket, pulled it over his shoulders and zipped it then let the boy lay back on the couch where she had moved him. “I don’t understand what the problem is, Trip. There will be plenty of basketball games.”

“Not like this one,” Trip mumbled.

“What’s different about this one?” She wondered as she put on her own jacket. She’d already moved the SUV close to the elevator while Trip stayed with Fitz. Trip could then hobble from one to the other without too much struggle. 

“It’s my last year in middle school, Mrs. C and it’s the last time we play our archrivals. I’ll never get to do this again.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I know it’s dumb, but…well, it’s important too.”

Melinda rubbed his shoulder. “Maybe it won’t be too bad. You rest today and we’ll see how it is tomorrow. Deal?” The boy thought for moment then nodded. She patted his arm again and crossed her fingers causing him to smile for the first time all morning.

 

Dr. Stephens had one of her office staff waiting for Melinda and her boys. The young man helped Trip into a wheelchair, intending to escort him to the radiology lab as per the doctor’s instructions. He made a detour, carrying Fitz to the examining room while Melinda pushed the chair into the building. May switched with the man places wishing Trip good luck and reassuring him guiltily. The boy had already told her he’d be fine and she didn’t have to go with him. He knew how sick Fitz was and how worried she was about her little boy. Trip did not want to keep them apart or be the cause of more worry. Fitz needed Melinda. He just needed to know his foot was not broken and he could get back to basketball as soon as possible.

“It’s okay, Mrs. C. I know the little guy needs you right now. Heck, it’s just an x-ray and I’m no baby.” Trip waved her off. She quickly hugged him and kissed his cheek, whispering good luck and crossing her fingers again.

“I’ll have him back as soon as I can,” the young man in dark blue scrubs assured May as he pushed the young boy into the elevator. Trip gave a little wave as the door closed.

Melinda tried to brush off the weird feeling of the empty office. She’d never been in any doctor’s office that wasn’t buzzing with some kind of activity, but here before regular hours of operation it was just eerie. She made her way through the receptionist’s office and down the short hallway to the examining room where Dr. Stephens and one of her nurses had begun examining Fitz. She looked up as Melinda entered the room.

“Definitely double ear infection,” the doctor put down the otoscope and raised the stethoscope to her ears. She placed it on the boy’s chest and listened as she moved it from side to side. 

“Lara, please get an updated temp reading, while I speak to Mrs. Coulson.” Dr. Stephens directed Melinda away from the examining table, but remained close enough for her to see the child. “It’s a pretty serious strep infection, Melinda. I’ll have Lara do a throat culture just to be sure. I’d like to give him shot of penicillin. It’s a bit painful, but I think this is the best course of action right now. This could lead to more serious complications like rheumatic fever or meningitis. He’s a petty sick little guy.”

“He was fine yesterday,” Melinda sighed as she watched the young nurse treat the boy. “How could this happen so fast.”

“Kids are funny,” the doctor reassured her. “Some kids, and I suspect with this little guy’s history, he might be one of them…some kids, just keep quiet. They’re either afraid to say they don’t feel well or they don’t want to cause a problem. Some just figure no one cares anyway.” Before Melinda could protest she continued, “I certainly do not mean you or your husband, but from what you’ve told me I suspect that Fitz was in a pretty bad situation before he came to you. I have to give you a lot of credit for taking in this group of children.” She smiled at Melinda as Lara signaled that she had finished with both the temperature taking and the throat culture.

“He’s very cooperative,” she smiled as Melinda approached.

“You would see a very different Fitz if he was feeling better.” Melinda smirked as she ran her hand over the boy’s curls. He felt clammy and whined at her touch. “It’s okay, Fitz. We’re going to help you feel better.”

“103.7, Doctor,” Lara informed Dr. Stephens.

“Okay, prepare 900 mg Bicillin.” The doctor ordered and Lara nodded before stepping away.

“After the shot we’ll keep him here for about twenty minutes just to be sure he has no reaction. Lara will give you a list of what to watch for when you get home.” She reached down and took the boy’s hand in hers. “Hey, Fitz,” she shook his hand gently until he took a deep breath and opened his blood-shot eyes. He blinked a few times and looked at her blankly. “Hey,” she smiled. “You’re a pretty sick little guy.” The doctor told him. He swallowed as his eyes started to close. “Whoa, just a minute there before you nod off again.” She shook his hand again. “I have to give you a shot, Fitz.” Even in his weakened state, the boy’s eyes widened and he shook his head slowly. The doctor stifled a laugh and nodded. “Yes, yes, I do have to Fitz and it will hurt but I’m going to give you some medicine for that and it’s going to help you feel a lot better.”

Dr. Stephens looked to Melinda, who looked as horrified as the child on the exam-table did. “It takes about two minutes to give this shot. I know that seems like a very long time. I’ll numb the site first, and the injection itself has some numbing medication in it to help reduce the pain. I know it’s drastic, but I still feel it is the best way to go.” 

She hated to see him in pain, but Melinda nodded in agreement. The boy’s eyes closed but he continued to shake his head and try to pull his hand away from the doctor. Melinda stepped closer and took his opposite hand. She brought it to her lips and kissed his warm fingertips. “I’m right here, baby.” 

Lara returned with a small aerosol can and a rather mean looking hypodermic. She handed both to the doctor and moved to the little boy’s side. “Come on, sweetie. I need you to lie on your tummy.” She patted the table and put a hand on his hip to help him move. The little boy gave little protest as he was helped by the young nurse and Melinda. 

“Mom,” his small voice croaked just once barely audible except to a mother’s ears. Melinda shushed him and rubbed his back as the nurse lowered his shorts and quickly sprayed the injection spot with the numbing solution. The sudden cold caused him to jump. 

Melinda leaned over placing her cheek next to his immediately feeling the heat radiating from the small boy. She whispered, “Āiyō, Āiyō,” in a soft chant close to his ear and watched as the doctor pressed the long needle into its target. “Māmā zài zhèlǐ, tiánměi de nánhái. Wǒ zhīdào zhè shānghàile nǐ, dàn nǐ shì jiānqiáng de. Nǐ shì māmā de qiángzhuàng měinǚ.*” She spoke softly to him in her native tongue. It seemed to calm him, although she knew he did not understand, but he would. She would make sure they all did. “Āiyō, Āiyō, Fitz.” She used the same comfort she had with Skye, remembering her own mother’s way of making the pain seem so much less. 

 

Trip sat in the empty waiting room with his newly bandaged ankle propped up on the extended wheelchair support. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and listened to the ticking of the large clock on the opposite wall. Just as Melinda had been when she entered the eerie office, the young boy was a tad creeped out by the unusual quiet. The young man who had expertly wrapped the ACE bandage around his foot seemed happy to let him know that it was probably only a bad sprain, but the doctor would talk to his ‘mom’ and let them know. He laughed to himself at the reference the guy had made. Whoever would think that little Melinda May Coulson was his mother. She was a tiny woman and he, at fourteen, towered over her, not to mention the fact that he was clearly African American and she was absolutely Asian. There was no resemblance, not even a hint of any mixed racial coupling. Heck, the only one of the kids in the house that bore even the slightest bit of a chance of being mistaken for Phil and Melinda’s kid was Skye. The rest of them could have been neighbors just stopping in for a visit. Yet, this guy thought May was his mother? Maybe the guy couldn’t see very well or maybe he saw something more than physical. Mrs. C had been fussing over him like…well, like his Gram did when he was sick or hurt and she even left the little guy’s side to make sure he was okay…even told him she’d go with him while the doctor was with Fitz. He knew how concerned she was with the kid. Why would she hold his hand and tell him she’d go with him? And she…she kissed his head, just like she did Jemma and Skye and even that dopey little Fitzie (when he’d let her). 

They’re little kids, he told himself. They need her to be their mom. They need hugs and kisses and all that stuff little kids need to know that their parents love them and care about them. He was almost an adult. He could take care of himself. Heck, he could take care of the little kids, if they’d let him. He’d be a great babysitter and they could get some adult time. He’d have to suggest that, not that he wanted to be paid or anything, but it was the least he could do after all they did for him and his gram. Then just last week he’d heard Fitz tell one of the kids in the park that his ‘brother’ could throw more basketballs than any other player could. “Shoot…shoot a ball, kid!” He had corrected him, turning away to hide the blush of pride. Did these little ruffians really consider him their brother? 

He thought about the odd situation and all the titles tossed around in the small apartment they shared. To Jemma, Phil and Melinda were Aunt Mel and Uncle Phil. They weren’t related by blood but he knew they were her godparents and guessed it was a term they and her parents must have agreed on at some time in the past. Fitz had just recently begun calling May, ‘mom’. It wasn’t long after that midnight jaunt to the roof with Skye and he knew there was more to it, but it really wasn’t his business. However, if at some point the kid wanted to share…he’d listen. He hadn’t heard the little guy call him ‘dad’, but when he referred to Phil in conversation, he was always ‘Da’. Trip figured that was the British or Scottish or some-ish way to say ‘dad’. He’d known Mr. C for about five years and knew the guy would be over the moon to hear the kid call him that. Then there was baby Skye who right from the get go called them Mama and Daddy and they both shined with the thrill it gave them. She also wrapped herself around his heart. There was just something about that little one that was irresistible, even if she was ‘hell on wheels…hot wheels…fast and furious hot wheels’. Trip laughed at the thought.

He’d been staying with the Coulsons for almost two months although the majority of his things were still in his grandmother’s apartment. In reality, he was living with the family, but he told himself he was just staying there. He visited his grandmother every week, sometimes twice. She was doing well, but he could see she would not be able to care for herself at home and although he certainly would do anything for her, he also knew he was not capable of caring for her either. The doctors seemed optimistic and kept saying she was improving, but no one wanted to give any guess as to when (or if) she might be well enough to come home. He tried not to think about it too much. 

He knew the Coulsons were looking for a bigger place. He’d gone with them a few times to look at huge houses with lots of rooms and big yards. They were far from the city, closer to the ‘twins’ school. They were in neighborhoods with lots of trees and quiet streets where everyone’s backyard was as big as the park down the block from the apartment building where they now lived. Every house they looked at was as great if not better than the one before and he wondered how they would decide. At the same time, he hoped they wouldn’t decide because he wasn’t quite sure what would happen to him when they did, although he really liked the one with the built in basketball court behind the garage. That he thought would be his dream house. His own court, he could practice night and day.

Trip had no other relatives. He had nowhere else to go and that left either a group home or foster care. He had no desire to experience either. He’d been in one of those places for a few weeks after his mom disappeared. It was a long time ago and only until his Gram and Pops came to get him, but it wasn’t something he ever wanted to do again. Sometimes he’d look at Skye and wonder how a little thing like her could have done it for so long. It was a fear he lived with every day, but never said a word, not even to Gram. He didn’t want her worrying when she needed to concentrate on getting better.

He stared at his bandaged foot and pushed the worry from his thoughts…well, those worries anyway. Today was Tuesday and for some reason, there was no practice on Tuesdays. The guys on the team joked it was the coach’s poker night, some guys made more crass jokes about it. In any case, he could rest his ankle all day and night and with any luck, he’d be able to walk tomorrow. It was five days, if you counted today and Saturday-day, he was sure he’d be 100% by then…unless it was broken…then he wouldn’t play at all…for weeks…maybe months. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and squashed the tears that were forming. He refused to give in to them. The soft click of a door brought him from his thoughts.

The door opened and Melinda entered followed by the doctor he’d just met this morning. She gave him a strange look and he fought the urge to jump to his feet. “Is Fitz okay?” The concern in his voice surprised him…maybe he did think of the little guy as a brother.

“He’s resting for a bit.” Melinda assured him. “How are you?” She asked, nodding toward his foot. The boy frowned and shrugged his shoulders.

Dr. Stephens sat on the coffee table, placed her hand on Trip’s knee and smiled. “Well, the good news is that it’s not broken.”

“YES!” Trip’s joy was apparent.

“But,” the doctor interrupted his celebration. “You’ll have to stay off of it for two or three days.” The news did not diminish his happiness. That left just as many days before the game. “Mike’s got some crutches for you.” She was saying, but he really wasn’t listening anymore. “You can go to school if you want or I can…”

“No, no,” he was paying attention again. “No, I can go to school and to practice.”

The doctor furrowed her brow and looked up at Melinda who mouthed ‘basketball’. “You can *watch* practice, but for now you sit it out.” She patted his knee and hid her smile at his defeat. The doctor stood. “I’ll give your mom the instructions for soaking and icing. You can take some over the counter pain meds if you need them.” She squeezed his shoulder and smiled again as he nodded. “I’ll get that for you and check on Fitz.” The doctor patted Melinda’s arm as she passed and entered the examination area of her office.

May rubbed her hand on Trip’s shoulder then sat in the chair closest to the wheelchair. “Well, that’s good news, right?” She tried to sound positive.

He looked at her for a moment then nodded. “I’m sorry about that.” He mumbled.

“Sorry?” Melinda was confused, “about what? Spraining your ankle? Trip…” 

The boy closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, sorry she called you my mom. I never said you…”

Melinda placed a hand on the boy’s arm and gently rubbed it back and forth. “Trip, why would you think that’s a bad thing? You’re a great kid and part of our family. I’m proud she thinks I’m your mom, too.” He smiled an embarrassed smile. Other than his Gram and Pops, he’d never had anyone treat him like Phil and Melinda did. 

“The x-ray guy called you my mom, too.” He shrugged, avoiding her eyes and feeling the flush on his cheeks.

“Well I guess it’s official then,” she smiled and pulled him into a sideways hug, kissing his temple in the process.

He knew it was something she did with the little kids…and he didn’t mind a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Mama is here, sweet boy. I know this hurts you, but you be strong. You are mama's strong beautiful boy.


	24. A Day in Our Boring Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma wonders if Phil is as forgiving as Melinda. Skye makes a different impression on her second day of school.

Skye let go of her teacher’s hand and stood staring at the poster on the back of the closed door. It was a man kneeling down in front of two smiling little girls. They were definitely in a school, but it wasn’t this one and those girls were not in this room. Skye wondered who they were and why their picture was there. She turned and looked around the classroom. Just like yesterday there were children playing in small groups around the perimeter of the room. In the center was a large circular carpet where they had ‘circle time’ yesterday. Everyone picked an animal and sat on that picture. Skye was a bird. She liked the elephant and hoped she could sit there today, if they had circle time again.

She looked at the dramatic play area but didn’t see her new friends. Slowly she walked to the wall where Mama and Jemma had stood watching her yesterday. Maybe she could just stand and watch like they did. “Hello there, Skye!” Miss Ginny startled her as she turned in the small chair where she sat doing puzzles with a group of kids at a small table. “Would you like to try a puzzle?” Skye stepped closer and looked at the puzzles spread out in the center of the table. They were made of wood with large pieces, some had knobs and some did not. One puzzle had farm animals that made sounds when you took them out and put them in and another had musical instruments that did the same thing. Still a third had fish of all colors and a magnetic fishing pole to pick them up and put them back it. She eased herself into an empty seat and watched for a few minutes before Miss Ginny slid one of the puzzles in front of her. “How ‘bout we start with this one and then you can choose.” Miss Ginny picked the pieces out of the frame and set them on the table. It took a few tries but Skye got all of the pieces back in where they belonged, then reached for the music puzzle. She took out the pieces and put them back without any help, then did it again so she could hear the music once more. By the time she had done every puzzle on the table, Miss Tripani was ringing her little bell and telling the children to clean up and come to circle. Skye helped Miss Ginny carry the puzzles to the rack then followed her to the big round carpet. She didn’t get to sit on the elephant, but she did get to sit on the lion right next to Miss Ginny. Unfortunately, the rest of the day did not go as smoothly.

 

Jemma peered at a silent Phil in the rearview mirror of the car. She couldn’t quite make out his expression but his eyes showed he was very concerned. Being Jemma, she wanted to help. “I’m sure she’ll do splendid today. All that fuss with Salty yesterday was quite a misunderstanding. It was wise of you to suggest we all make such a grand display of saying goodbye this morning.” She smiled her best smile as he glanced back at her in the same mirror.

“Thank you, Jemma.” Phil nodded, knowing what the child was attempting. “And how about you, how are you doing this morning?”

“Oh, I’m doing quite well. Thank you for asking.” Always polite and mannerly, Jemma grinned and pressed her hands down straightening her skirt in an attempt to hide her nervousness.

“You sound a little…hmmm, fretful this morning, kiddo,” Phil commented, watching for her reaction.

Jemma thought about lying or just stretching the truth a little bit, but that would be wrong and she liked to think she would do the right thing. Uncle Phil was pretty patient, but she didn’t want to anger him. “Just a wee bit,” she admitted in a soft voice. 

“You know, Aunt Mel spoke with the school nurse and dietician, don’t you princess?” He asked calmly. She nodded, looking out the window so she didn’t have to face him. She liked when he called her ‘princess’, no one had ever had a pet name for her before she came to the States. 

Her parents thought it was ridiculous to call a person anything but their given name. Phil always called Skye, ‘angel’ so when he began calling her ‘princess’ she felt quite special. Today, it made her feel guilty. Aunt Mel had certainly spoken to him about the eating issue and her silly notion about her parents. Maybe he was already angry with her, but it didn’t show. Maybe that was because Skye was with them and he didn’t want to scare her. Maybe that was why he insisted on driving her to school today instead of putting her on the bus like every other day. Maybe he was about to let her know how he really felt about her lying and making things up and throwing away food that should never be wasted. Suddenly, Jemma felt quite queasy. 

“If anything happens or you feel sick, you know you can go to the nurse and she will call me or Aunt Mel.” He reminded her and she gave a quick nod.

Suddenly it felt very strange going to school without Fitz. They’d been together everyday since arriving in this country and starting to matriculate at this school. Fitz was pretty much the only friend she had. They walked to class together, did projects together and ate lunch together. He never said a word about her not eating mostly because he generally consumed everything she didn’t. He told her it was so she wouldn’t feel badly about wasting food, but she knew he simply loved eating. Fitz always seemed to be hungry. Perhaps it was because when he was with that horrible man he never had enough to eat. That just made her feel worse. Here poor Fitz was starving and she was refusing perfectly good food.

“Jemma? Are you okay?” Phil asked after the girl failed to respond to his last few comments.

“Just worried about Fitz, I suppose.” She answered in a half-truth, which she told herself was not exactly a lie…well, it was a half-lie she supposed. 

“Might be a little more than that, Jems.” He smiled knowingly.

She smiled at the other pet name he and Aunt Mel sometimes used with her. “What if I can’t eat lunch? I’ve never been anywhere here without Fitz. I don’t know if I can do it without him.” Her voice cracked with her last statement.

Phil pulled into the parking lot of the school and turned to face her. “I won’t lie to you Jemma.” He switched off the car and got out, only to open the back door and climb in beside her. “It’s gonna be rough going for a little bit, but we’re right here for you.” He put an arm around her and pulled her close to him, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll take it slow and before you know it you’ll be back to your old self.” He squeezed her a little tighter. “Your teacher, the nurse and dietician are the only ones who are aware of the situation, Jems. They’ll help too. You’ll get a nice lite lunch for a while and yes, Mrs. Wilson will make sure that you did in fact eat all of it.”

Jemma nodded. She knew there would be some supervision, some way to be sure she did as she was asked. “I’ve caused such a lot of trouble, haven’t I?” She spoke without raising her head. “Are you very angry with me?” Her voice so hushed he almost missed the question.

“Jemma…,” Phil began. “Jemma, look at me.” He lifted her chin and turned her to face him. “Aunt Mel went over this with you, didn’t she? We aren’t angry, just very concerned. If we seem upset it’s because we’re upset with ourselves because we didn’t realize there was something upsetting you.” She looked at him and he knew she did not believe a word he was saying. “Jemma, you did not cause a problem…you had a problem and we weren’t seeing it. We should have been helping you, not just expecting you to work it out or come to us when you were ready. If anything you should be angry with us.”

The girl shook her head and reached up grabbing his arm. “No, no, never Uncle Phil. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. I just feel so badly about all of this.” Tears were beginning to form in the child’s eyes. “You really should be angry with me.”

Phil smiled at the child’s attempt to relieve her guilt, almost as if in Jemma-style she was sweetly demanding that someone be angry with her. “Would it help if I was angry, maybe yelled a little bit?” The girl’s cheeks turned bright red and she lowered her gaze again. She uncharacteristically shrugged her shoulders, passively giving him permission to vent his anger.

Taking a deep breath, Phil pulled his most serious voice and puffed up his chest in mock anger. He gently pushed the little girl away from him and shook his finger at her. “Jemma Simmons you are never to pull such a silly stunt again. Your Aunt and I have been worried sick about you not eating and not talking to us.” He knit his brows in his firmest scowl almost falling out of character at the wide-eyed look on her face. “We love you very much, Jemma.” His voice softened. “We don’t want to see you make yourself sick or hurt yourself any more.” He pulled her close again and hugged her to his chest. “Feel better?” He asked as he rested his chin on the top of her head. 

She nodded, “a little.”

“Hmmm,” he rocked her a bit, “well maybe we can try again tomorrow morning.” With that, she giggled. “Oh, now that’s a sound I love to hear.” Phil smiled. “How ‘bout I walk my best girl to class before the bell rings?” Jemma nodded into his chest.

Phil carried her satchel and held her hand until they reached the front doors. He handed the bag to her and she took a few steps before rushing back for one last hug. “I love you, too.” She told him before hurrying into the large building with several other youngsters.

 

After Skye’s whirlwind morning, Miss Tripani missed the quiet withdrawn version of the little girl she had dealt with the previous day. Whatever the Coulsons had done to alleviate their daughter’s fears had certainly done more than the trick. Skye’s inhibitions had completely disappeared and today she was ready to investigate and experiment with everything in the classroom. She discovered the art area shortly after morning circle and managed not only to spill an entire bottle of blue paint across the table and onto the floor, but stepped in the puddle it made and tracked tiny blue footprints around the entire center. Skye’s neat white socks and new sneakers were stained with the thankfully washable paint. Two blue handprints stood out starkly on both of her hips. There were even streaks in her shoulder length hair. Miss Ginny slipped off the little girl’s shoes and ushered her to the bathroom for a quick clean up after she closed the art area until one of the teachers could get to the clean up needed there.

The classroom pet, a Kangaroo Rat, called Dundee was a fascination for the little girl. She watched as Miss Ginny changed the water in its habitat and showed Skye how to feed it. She explained that everyone had a turn to feed Dundee and that she would add Skye’s name to the list. The aid made the mistake of walking away to do just that leaving Skye alone to open the animal’s cage and promptly let it loose in the classroom. While the children found the whole thing the most fun they’d had all month, the teachers were exhausted trying to control sixteen three and four-year-olds and at the same time attempt to contain and capture one small very fast moving creature. After almost thirty minutes and with the help of Mr. Jerry, the maintenance man, Dundee was safely back in his cage and the children were listening to a lecture on how it was much safer to keep him there. 

During Science Project time, Miss Tripani set up pots and pipettes on trays for eight of the children to experiment with liquids, solids and gases. Skye joined the first group and chose a bright yellow tray at the seat next to Darienne. Miss Tripani gave everyone some white powder in their little pots. She called Baking Soda, but Skye was sure it wasn’t any kind of soda. She let them add other things to it like glitter and some drips of colored water. Then they added even more ‘soda’. Skye tasted the mixture. It was nasty and made her want to throw up, but she didn’t and Miss Tripani told her it wasn’t really good to taste, especially since now Skye had bright pink teeth speckled with tiny bits of purple glitter. Miss Tripani sent her for a drink of water, but she could still feel the little bits in her teeth and the pink water dribbled all over her new red polo shirt. She was sure the teacher wouldn’t let her finish the experiment and walked to the spot next to the sink where she had to sit yesterday when she spilled all that milk, but Miss Tripani called her back to the table. She smiled when she got a small cup of liquid called vinegar and the teacher showed her how to squeeze the pipette so the vinegar would go into it. Then everyone squirted it into their pots and WOW! There were fizzy bubbles everywhere and everyone was so excited, Skye couldn’t help jumping up and down and when she tipped her tray into her lap and all over Darienne the experiment was definitely finished. Miss Ginny helped her and Darienne to change into dry clothing then took the group outside for free-play.

Outdoor play went pretty much without incident, except for the many times Skye was reminded how to go down the slide. “Sit on your bottom, Skye.” Miss Ginny told her. “We sit on the slide.” 

Skye couldn’t understand why the teacher would say such a thing. It was easy to stand on the large plastic slide and run down as fast as possible. She showed Ryan and David how to do it and they had no problem. Miss Tripani sat with them and talked about how it was not safe and they might fall off the top or trip or hit their teeth. They all agreed to sit on the slide. Skye did exactly that as she slid down on her bottom, backward, sideways and head first. In the end, she was banished from the sliding board for the rest of playtime. Directed to the sandbox by the teachers Skye buried her shoes and socks then left the area to join a group of children who had located a large spider and were debating how to capture it. When Miss Tripani asked why she had no shoes and where they were, Skye simply shrugged and wriggled her toes. Ben and Ryan made it a point to let their teacher know that they had dug up the girl’s footwear. Miss Tripani spent at least ten minutes getting the sand out of the sneakers, but gave up on the socks. 

The teachers breathed a sigh of relief as the children marched inside to wash their hands and prepare for lunch. While Miss Ginny got the tables ready and helped to pass out plates, cups and utensils, Miss Tripani monitored the bathroom and made sure everyone had clean hands before going to the lunch area.  
“Where’s Skye, Miss Panni?” Chelsea asked as she pulled out chair and sat down. 

Both teachers looked at each other and then scanned the group of little faces looking up at them. Sure enough, one was missing. Miss Tripani went to the bathroom to check. Miss Ginny hurried to the cubby thinking that the little girl had gone there by mistake.

“She dint come wit us.” One of the children pointed out as he watched the teachers search. “She dint get in line eeder.” He nodded and pointed toward the playground door.

Sure enough, Miss Ginny found Skye seated under the sliding board filling a bucket with wood chips and emptying it into a toy dump truck. “Skye,” the teacher sighed with relief, “didn’t you hear us call everyone to get in line.” Skye scrunched up her face and looked at the teacher for a moment before nodding and then going back to filling her little bucket. Miss Ginny looked at her for a moment before continuing. “Honey, that means you have to get in line to come inside.”

“I not done.” She answered. “I no wanna go in now.”

The teacher reached under the large structure and took Skye by the hand pulling her out gently. Naptime could not come soon enough.

 

Phil and Skye entered the apartment building with the little girl loudly singing a song about monkeys jumping on a bed. Something she learned at school and had already sung all the way home. Of course, in her version the monkeys were ‘zumping’ on a bed and Phil didn’t understand a lot of what else was happening to those darn monkeys but she sounded so cute he didn’t mind. He’d been given a full report on her misdeeds of the day and had to laugh at the fact that both teachers looked a little worse for wear. Jemma had chosen to stay for Science Club after school and would take the bus home later in the afternoon. Phil was glad to hear she had finished most of her lunch without any complications. 

“Hey, Mr. C,” Trip greeted him from the living room sofa. “Guess you got the message about Jemma going to Science Club today.” 

“I did, Trip, thank you for calling. Guess it’s been pretty crazy here today, too.” Phil remarked as he scooped up Skye and made his way into the room. 

“Hi, Frip!” Skye squirmed out of her father’s arms and walked surprisingly slow toward the older boy eyeing the metal crutches resting against the coffee table. “You gotz a broke foot, Frip?” She brushed her fingers lightly over the tan bandage wrapped around his ankle, frowning at the thought.

“Girl, it ain’t that bad. Just gotta rest a day and I’ll be good as new.” He smiled broadly, as she reached and pulled her into his lap. He bounced her up and down on his knee. “See, no problems.” She giggled and threw herself down on his chest as he reclined on the sofa. “You wanna watch the game with me orrrrrrrr I can turn on that sesame bun show.” 

“Not sessmee bun, Frip, sessmee sreet.” Skye giggled again as he tickled her sides.

The boy picked her up and sat her on his stomach then reached for the remote. “We got about ten minutes before it starts little girl, so you can tell me all about school today.”

Skye pointed at the very interesting crutches a few feet away. “What’s them?”

“Woo Hooo, girl! Was it that bad, you gotta change the subject?” He chuckled and tickled her again.

Phil flipped through the pile of mail on the table against the back of the couch and smiled at the antics of his youngest and oldest child. Yes, he considered Trip one of the kids just as much as any of the others. “Where’s Mel?” He asked casually.

“She’s checkin’ on the little guy.” Trip chucked his chin toward the boys’ room as he caught Skye before she tumbled from her perch on his abdomen. “He’s had a rough one, Mr. C. The doc gave him a shot about six inches long. Took almost ten minutes to push all the stuff into his a…a…his a....him.” He smiled at Skye, avoiding Phil’s glare.

“I think that might be a bit of an exaggeration, Trip.” Phil laughed and tapped the boy on the head as he walked by him.

“What’s an exaggeration?” Melinda wondered as she entered the room.

“MAMA!” Skye jumped off her brother’s tummy, falling forward and narrowly missing the edge of the coffee table. The crutches clanged to the floor and the little girl tangled her feet through them managing to pull them free with Trip’s help. Once free, she raced toward her mother greeting her with her usual enthusiasm. 

Melinda gathered her into her arms, covering her with kisses and telling her how much she was missed. She glanced at the dark blue T-shirt and jeans the child wore and asked why she was wearing different clothing. She took one of Skye’s feet in her hand and held it out examining the blue splotches across it. “Where are your socks?” She asked narrowing her brows in confusion. 

Phil raised his eyebrows and shook his head as he held up a plastic bag filled with wet clothing. “I think we need to talk.” He smiled a crooked smile and Melinda knew immediately that Skye had been totally-Skye at school today.

Skye hung her head refusing to look at her mother. “You mad to me, mama?” Skye whispered as she wrapped her arms around Melinda’s neck.

“Mama’s not happy, Skye and I have a feeling that after I talk to daddy I just might be.” She sighed as she patted the little girl’s bottom with just a tad firmer touch than usual. 

“No talk to daddy, mama. You be happy.” The little girl squeezed her mother tighter and pulled herself up higher, away from the love pats. Melinda squeezed her just as tightly and gave her another firm pat, then kissed her cheek and carried her to her bedroom with Phil following. 

While Melinda stripped the baby down to her camisole and panties, Phil pulled clean clothing from the drawer and filled his wife in on Skye’s escapades of the day. Melinda in turn filled him in on the boys’ condition.  
“Fitz has a bad strep infection but with the shot the doctor gave he should be on the mend by tomorrow.” Melinda informed him.

Phil laughed. “To hear Trip tell it, he was shish-ka-bobbed.”

“Yeah, well Trip wasn’t there.” She groaned as she pulled a clean polo over Skye’s head and attempted to catch her arms to poke them through the sleeves. “It was pretty extreme. Poor little guy, took it like a trooper.” Then she laughed, pulling Skye onto her lap and forcing her feet through the legs of a new pair of jeans. “Only because he was so sick, otherwise we’d still be trying to catch him. Probably would have taken ten nurses to hold him down. Hell, it would have taken that many to hold me down.”

“Fizz get aiyo, mama?” Skye asked, pushing her ruffled hair away from her eyes and pushing her head back to look up at May.

“Yes, baby he did and we’re going to let him sleep and not bother him because he is sick.” Melinda explained.

“Do his belly hoert?” Skye asked, wide-eyed.

Before Melinda could answer, Phil scooped the little girl off her mother’s lap and set her on her feet. “Yes, Fitz has a belly ache and you,” he tapped her nose with his finger, “go out and watch Elmo™ with Trip.” He spun her toward the door and sent her out with a gentle pat on the bottom. 

Phil put out a hand and pulled Melinda to her feet and into his arms, kissing her quickly. She smiled and kissed him back. “Trip’s ankle is not broken.” She breathed close to him before kissing him again.

”Good to know,” he kissed her again.

“He really wants to play in that game, Phil.” She rested her forehead against his. “It’s important to him. I told him you’d talk to the coach.” 

“I will.” He agreed and pulled her into a tight hug. She rested her head on his shoulder and he could feel her exhaustion. “You’ve had a rough day.” He sighed. 

“I’ve had better,” she almost laughed. 

“Why don’t you take a break and I’ll get dinner.” He suggested but she was already shaking her head and trying to pull away. He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head stilling her struggle. He swayed back and forth. “The realtor called today.” He hummed close to her ear.

“Mmmmm,” she hummed in response, moving to the rhythm he had created.

“They accepted our offer. The house is ours.” He smiled and kissed her forehead. She didn’t respond and for a moment, he worried then felt her steady breathing and lowered her onto Jemma’s bed. 

She deserved the rest. He kissed her forehead and decided it was a great night for take out.


	25. Ease on Down the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys recover, everyone has ice cream and the Coulsons break some hard news to Trip

Trip returned to school and played basketball the following Saturday with Phil, Jemma and Skye cheering him on with gusto. Although his team was defeated, and he was a combination of angry and disappointed he kept his emotions in check, smiling when Jemma sadly greeted him and Phil patted his back in consolation. The team elected to celebrate anyway and with Phil’s permission, Trip left with them and an extended curfew.

Phil decided a celebration was due as well and treated his girls to ice cream sundaes before heading for home. As usual, Skye wore most of her vanilla with rainbow sprinkles and Jemma managed to finish most of her strawberry. Phil finished a double-chocolate fudge sundae then took home enough for Melinda and a quickly recovering Fitz. Jemma carried it through the door as Phil had his hands full with a sticky, sleeping Skye who was put to bed just the way she was.

“We brought you some ice cream.” Jemma announced as she skipped into Fitz’ room. “I know it’s late but Aunt Mel said you can have it now.” Fitz groaned as he pushed himself up on one side and grimaced at the ache in his backside. Jemma grimaced in sympathy. “Still hurts?” She pouted. 

“Not so much,” he answered as he propped himself up on the many pillows he’d acquired and popped a spoonful of vanilla ice cream into his mouth. “But, it gets me a lot of sympathy.” He smiled around the swallow. Then he looked at Jemma with wide eyes and pointed his plastic spoon at her to make a point. “And don’t ya go tellin’ mom. She’ll just be wantin’ to come in here and go checkin’ to make sure it’s healin just right, and that can be quite embarrassin’.”

“Fitz,” she giggled as she scolded, happy to have the ‘old’ Fitz back. He still didn’t look too great with those dark circles under his eyes and the fine prickly rash that covered most of him, but his fever had broken two days ago and he’d been improving since. Melinda wouldn’t let him out of bed except to use the bathroom but she promised if he behaved himself she would let him transfer to the sofa tomorrow…but, just for a little while. 

“How was the game?” He asked paying more attention to the ice cream than Jemma. 

“I’m afraid they lost.” She shook her head. “Trip was quite disappointed.”

Fitz shook his head and scooped more of his ice cream out of the container. “This is the best.” He smiled for the first time in days. “Even though it’s just plain vanilla, ya know I like chocolate and a bit of whipped cream on top.” He licked his lips and wiggled his brows at her.

Jemma shook a finger at him. “Leopold James Fitz, you should be thankful you have any at all.”

The boy stared for a moment, mouth open and spoon halfway there, then shrugged his shoulders and popped it into his mouth. He rolled his eyes and let a soft ‘mmmmm’ escape his lips. Jemma could not suppress a giggle.

 

Melinda sat at the kitchen table and enjoyed her pineapple sundae. Phil sat across from her occasionally helping himself to a spoonful of the same. They’d been debating how and when to tell their brood about the new house and their upcoming move. In any ‘normal’ family, announcing the purchase of a new home with enough bedrooms and bathrooms to go around, not to mention, a large yard that held the possibility of a pool in the distant future (and the half-court basketball court behind the garage) would be met with a round of cheers. The basketball court would get extra kudos from a young boy with a love for the game. The thrill of moving to such a home would be especially rampant after living in the close quarters they’d shared for the past few months. 

However, the Coulson family was not quire the norm and a new home would certainly have much different meanings to their children. Jemma and Fitz had traveled half a world to come here and finally seemed settled. To uproot them again after such a short time seemed almost cruel. Trip might not be so keen about moving to the suburbs. He’d lived in the city all his life. His grandmother’s home was here. His friends were here. His little bodega job was here. His school was here, although this was his last year in middle school. He’d go to a new school next year anyway. Then there was Skye, who had her own ideas about going to a ‘new house’. For that little one a new house meant a new family. It meant she was no longer wanted where she was and had to move on to another house, another family that probably wouldn’t want her either.  
Life was certainly not simple in the Coulson house, it probably never would be. 

“We should probably wait until Fitz is feeling better.” Phil said to the spoon of ice cream he was about to put into his mouth. Melinda nodded in agreement. “It’s not like this is going to happen over night. We have a lot to do.” 

Melinda nodded again and pushed the remainder of her sundae to her husband who smiled at the offering. They had stopped at the bank Thursday afternoon before picking up Skye and while Trip was able to sit with Fitz. All of the necessary papers had been signed. Selling their two-bedroom condo would be no problem. The building’s owners had a waiting list that stretched into the next decade. A place this close to the hustle and bustle of the city was prime real estate. They decided to hold off on that step until the children were told the news. From that point things would move quickly and they did not want any of their kids to find out about this move from anyone other than their parents.

“Phil, you and I know this is the best thing for all of us, but how in god’s name are we going to tell them? We’ll be closer to the little ones’ schools but Trip will have to transfer and leave his apartment. What about his grandmother? What about…”

Phil reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. “It’ll be okay, Mel. We'll get through it. We’ll be here for them, for all of them. We’ll make sure they know that.”

Melinda let out a slow breath, unsure of the situation or how to handle it. “I think we should talk to Trip first, alone. He needs to make a choice and what about Mrs. Triplet. Are you sure she’s going to allow us to take her grandson to the suburbs, start him in a new school and practically steal him away from her? Phil, is that fair to them? What if he doesn’t want to go? What happens when she’s released from her rehab? Are we really doing the right thing here, Phil?”

“Mel,” he rose from his chair and moved to the one next to hers. “We are not always going to do the right thing.” He smiled at her frown. “We are going to make mistakes, all parents do. But, this is not one of those times, Mel. We all need this.” He squeezed her hand. “The boys are on top of each other in that small bedroom and Skye is practically sleeping in a shoebox behind Jemma’s door. We’ve got one bathroom and a teenager! That alone is reason to find a bigger place.” He laughed at the thought. She grinned. “But, I do agree that we speak to Trip first and not spring it on him in front of all the others.” She nodded and squeezed his hand. 

Jemma hurried into the kitchen with a look that already told them something was wrong. “I think allowing Fitz ice cream might not have been a wise choice.” She shook her head. “I did not move swiftly enough and he’s gone and vomited all over himself.”

Melinda was already on her feet and heading for the door. “So much for making mistakes,” she sighed.

 

Through a joint effort, the Coulsons were able to strip Fitz’s bed and scrub both the mattress and the carpet. Melinda wondered how a small boy who had consumed very little other than a small cup of ice cream could have brought up so very much. While Phil pulled sheets, blankets and pillows from the bottom bunk and ran them through the washer not once, but twice, just to be sure, she filled the tub with warm water and managed to get a stubborn Fitz into it with minimal effort. Despite his protests, she soaped him clean and got him into fresh PJ’s. A quick temperature check, with a new ear thermometer courtesy of Dr. Stephens, showed a low-grade fever. Melinda tucked the little boy into her bed choosing not to dose him with acetaminophen and risk another vomiting episode. She’d watch the fever just in case.

Jemma apologized to the point of tears before Phil convinced her to get into her own PJ’s foregoing a bath until morning. He sat with her in the large wing-backed chair, humming the tunes of his favorite oldies until she drifted off, then carried her to her own bed and tucked her into it. 

Trip practically fell into the apartment at 11:07, apologizing for his lateness and explaining that traffic had been unusually heavy for a Saturday night. Phil waved it off, understanding how these things happen and a mere seven minutes couldn’t really be considered being late. The young boy smiled his thanks and hurried to his room before either adult could let him know what had happened less than an hour earlier. Trip entered the room, took one deep breath and dashed, with one hand over his mouth, into Melinda’s freshly cleaned bathroom. The teen’s stomach churned with the scent of the recent mess in his room. Pizza, chilidogs, milk shakes and soft drinks consumed in teenage celebration did not make for a happy tummy when that same teen had a very weak stomach. He almost made it to the commode, but managed to grab a towel before christening the freshly washed floor.

Phil took charge this time. Trip tried valiantly to help clean the mess but only succeeded in making himself sick twice again. Melinda made up the couch for the teen and had him sip ice-cold ginger ale with bland crackers to help settle his stomach. He apologized repeatedly, sounding very much like Jemma had earlier. With the bathroom cleaned again, another load of wash done and all windows in the boys’ room and bath thrown open Mel and Phil made one last bed check then climbed into their own bed, already occupied by a much too warm Fitz and fell into a tentative sleep. 

Three hours later, Skye’s screams and Fitz’s moaning woke the entire household. It would be a very long night that would end with Phil, Trip and Fitz in the master bedroom, while Melinda shared a small bed with a sobbing Skye and a shaken Jemma.

 

With Skye and Jemma spending the afternoon in the care of Mack and Yo-yo and Fitz dosed with Tylenol® to keep down his renewed fever, Phil and Melinda sat down with a very nervous Trip. The boy thought he’d been given a free pass on his tardiness last night but apparently he was about to pay the piper. He ran through every minute of leaving the restaurant to the second he stepped through the door and even considered calling the friend whose mom had driven him home.

Phil and Melinda sat across from him at the kitchen table. He couldn’t read the looks on their faces, but sensed they were about to tell him something he would not like. Suddenly the thoughts of missing curfew were mute. His thoughts went to his grandmother. It was Sunday and they always went to visit on Sunday. He looked at the clock over the kitchen door, almost one o’clock. They should already be on the road. There was only one reason he could imagine would keep them from their weekly visit. He swallowed hard telling himself to take this like a man, to be strong…not to cry…not to imagine the worst…

“Trip,” Phil began with a nervous smile, “we want to talk to you about something important.”

The boy swallowed hard and nodded, looking from one adult to the other. He squirmed in his seat and wished they would just get it over with; he wanted to shout at them and let them know. Instead, he folded his hands on the table and bounced his foot causing the floor to tremble.

“It’s okay, Trip, you’re not in trouble.” Melinda assured him.

He swallowed again. It was about his Gram. He was having a very hard time sitting still and the tears were getting very hard to control. He brushed his hand across his eye quickly and smiled at the couple. They were looking at each other, probably looking for the best way to tell him the bad news. ‘Just get it over with!’ He screamed in his mind.

“Trip, our offer on the house in Bethesda was accepted. We’ve already signed the papers. We wanted to let you know first, before we let the little kids know.” Phil spoke so fast, the boy wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

Trip stopped shaking, stopped squirming, stopped clenching his teeth and bouncing his feet. It took a few minutes for him to unprocess and reprocess his thoughts. “You’re l-leaving…m-moving away?” He choked.

“Yes…n-no, Trip, no we…we are moving into a bigger place.” Phil corrected him. “I mean if you want to…if you…if it’s okay.”

Melinda came to the rescue. “What Phil’s trying to say is that we want you to come with us. You’re part of the family, Trip. We wouldn’t just leave you.”

“But, it’s up to you, we aren’t forcing you or trying to make you do something you not comfortable with…we want you to be the one to choose.” Phil added.  
Trip sat up straighter on the chair and spread his hands out on the table. Aside from losing his grandmother this was his worst fear. How could he make such a decision? How could he leave his grandmother, especially now when she needed him? He was all she had, even though he had a whole family that really loved him. What if he said no, what would happen then? Where would he go, what would happen? His stomach started feeling queasy again and he wondered if he could make the sprint to the bathroom in enough time. The squirming feeling was back too and he started to understand how Skye must feel when she just could not sit still. 

“Trip?” Phil was concerned.

“What…what about my Gram?” His voice sounded a lot younger than he wanted it to sound.

“We’re all going to talk about this, Trip. Your grandmother knows we were looking for a place. She wants to talk to you, but we wanted to let you know how we felt.” Phil continued.

A new feeling overcame the boy, “my Gram’s just givin’ me up…just like that…” He knew he sounded more like Fitz at that point, but didn’t really care. He loved the Coulsons but he loved his grandmother. She was family, she was blood. He looked at his hands still clasped on the table, anchoring him to the spot…preventing him from running, because that is what he really wanted to do…run. “Doesn’t she want me anymore?” Looking up quickly, he gasped, “is she okay, is something wrong? She’s not gonna make it?” He was on the verge of panic.

“No…no, Trip,” Melinda quickly consoled him. “Your grandmother is fine and getting better all the time.” She hurried to the opposite side of the table and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “She loves you very much Trip and wants you to have the best. She knows she can’t take care of you now and doesn’t want you to be alone.” Melinda smiled and squeezed him tighter, ignoring the tear that rolled over the boy’s cheek. He quickly wiped it away.

“There’s a great little apartment over the garage at the new place, Trip. We’re hoping you can help us convince her to consider moving in there.” Phil smiled his widest smile. “Of course, that would be after she’s well enough, of course.”

Trip breathed a sigh and nodded. He remembered the house with the big garage and the apartment over it. Phil had joked that he could rent it out to college kids until Trip was old enough to move in on his own. It was the same house that had the basketball court behind the garage and the giant park for a yard. Phil had asked his opinion on the house the day they were there and then a couple times after. He even compared it to other places they saw. He didn’t realize it at the time, but Phil and Melinda really wanted to know how he felt. They already planned for this. They already wanted him. They already had all this worked out with his Gram.

“I don’t know what to say.” Trip looked at his hands and shook his head.

“You don’t have to decide now.” Melinda patted his arm. 

Phil nodded. “How about we go see your Gram? I told her we’d be late today. We missed lunch but, the doctor agreed to let us take her out to dinner.” 

Trip smiled as he stood. “Really, at a real restaurant? She’ll love it.” He started for the door then turned back. “Maybe I should put on a tie, huh? Gram’d like that. Yeah, I’m gonna change real fast, Mr. C.” He backed out the door with a quick wave.

Phil moved to Melinda’s side and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “That went well.” He remarked. She gave him a sidelong glance.

“Well, you’re right about one thing.” She smiled.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Parents sure don’t have to be perfect.” She sighed as she stepped away. 

It was time to check on Fitz and probably help Trip tie that necktie.

“That’s right,” Phil called after her. “We are perfectly imperfect parents.”


	26. Hoppin' Down the Bunny Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Coulsons let the kids know about the big move, but Salty's not to happy about it.  
> Skye anticipates celebrating her first real birthday and misses an old friend.

 

After over two weeks of recuperating and a second shot that Dr. Stephens actually made a house call to administer, Fitz finally returned to school.  His cough continued for a few more days and had the school nurse sending him home twice, but he managed to catch up on all schoolwork with Jemma’s help and his parent’s insistence. 

 

Trip spoke with his grandmother several times and fretted over making the right decision, considering all of his options.  Phil liked to tell himself the kid finally elected to move with the family out of a mutual devotion but couldn’t help think that the reputation for high scores and championships of the basketball team at the school he would attend had more influence on his decision.  Mrs. Triplet seemed relieved with the idea that Antoine would be safe and secure with the Coulsons. She agreed to consider their offer of the over-garage apartment when she was again able to care for herself but only with the understanding that she would contribute to the care and feeding of the brood and not be what she called a ‘welfare-case’.  The subject remained a topic of discussion for each and every Sunday afternoon visit.

 

Jemma and Fitz’ reaction to the move to Bethesda was better than expected.  Jemma was elated to get back to what she called country living, even after Phil explained that their new home was not considered rural property.  The little girl was overjoyed with the fact she would have trees and grass and the opportunity to plant her own version of her mother’s garden.  A visit to the property had her already planning a potting shed location and the kinds of flowers she would plant in her little piece of it. 

 

Fitz was in awe of only one family living in such large quarters with a yard as big, if not bigger than, the park across the street from the flat he and his maw shared in Busby.  On his first visit to the new house he refused to go upstairs, insisting it was someone else’s home.  Trip finally convinced him by letting him know that Jemma would have first choice at the bedrooms if he didn’t get his little Highland butt moving. 

 

Skye’s reaction was a little more what they had expected.  She sat on Melinda’s lap listening to Phil and Trip describe the new place and watching the excitement build with Jemma and Fitz.  Sinking back into her mother she raised her eyebrows and took a deep breath as Phil went through the steps the family would be taking over the next week or so as they prepared for the ‘big move’.  He told everyone they’d get enough boxes to pack all of their belongings and each was assigned a specific colored marker to personalize their box.  They’d take what they could by car, but the ‘big stuff’ would go by truck in exactly twelve days.  The most exciting part of the move would be picking out new furniture for the added space they’d have. 

 

Melinda squeezed Skye.  “What do you think, little one?  You get to pick out a brand new bed, just for you!”  The little girl just smiled a small smile and wondered at the excitement of everyone around her.

 

After everyone moved on and got busy with routines and dreams of what could be done in what Jemma referred to as their country home, Skye stood in the living room staring at the sofa with the large blue pillows that always smelled like Daddy’s aftershave.  She liked the sofa.  It was where she sat with Trip and watched Elmo while he scribbled in his notebook doing his homework.  Mama didn’t like Trip to do homework in front of the TV but Trip said Elmo didn’t count.  The sofa was where she sat with Daddy on mornings she didn’t go to school.  He held her on his lap and read the newspaper to her.  She didn’t really know much about most of the things he read but he would show her the pictures and let her ask questions.  Daddy always gave her answers and never told her that she didn’t need to know. 

 

She walked back into the kitchen and stood with her eyes pinched closed.  She tried to remember where everything was, the stove, the sink, the refrigerator.  She looked at the black and white squares on the floor and the big table with two chairs that didn’t match because Trip carried them from the house across the hall.  This was where she helped Mama make cupcakes and stood on a chair to watch her wash dishes.  Mama let her put spoons in the dishwasher and carry the cups that didn’t break to the cabinet where she would lift her up to place them on the shelf.  This was where Daddy made pancakes and she spilled milk all over the floor too many times, but nobody yelled or slapped her because of it.  She listened to the soft clicking of the dryer tumbling clothes in its soothing way.  It was a little sound but it made her feel safe.  The family was so busy they did not notice the little girl quietly retreat to her small bed behind the door in Jemma’s room.  With all the excitement, it took a while before she was missed.

 

“Where’s Skye?”  Melinda turned and looked in all directions as she straightened books on a shelf in the living room.

 

Fitz looked up from the board game he and Trip were playing on the coffee table.  “I saw her go into the kitchen.”  He commented as he tossed the dice on to the table.

 

Trip pushed himself up from the floor.  “I’ll check on her, Mrs. C.”  He offered.

 

Melinda held up a hand stopping him as she moved toward the door.  The boy sat back down and groaned as Fitz held out a hand.  “Payday!” The smaller boy announced.

 

When she didn’t find her baby in the kitchen, May checked the laundry room and the pantry before making sure the lock was secured on the back door.  She moved back to the living room where the boys were still engrossed in their game and Jemma sat on the sofa with a large reference book in her lap.  Phil had gone to the basement about half an hour ago to check on the amount of paraphernalia they had stored over the years and how much would have to be moved versus being discarded.  If he had taken Skye with him he certainly would have told her, but if the little girl had just followed him…no, one of them would have noticed, wouldn’t they?  Suddenly, that panicky feeling was creeping up on her…the one that always laughed and told her what a failure she was at being a mother.  How does a mother lose track of a child?

 

“Trip,” she tried to keep the fear out of her voice.  “Could you run down to the storage units and just see if she maybe went with Phil.” 

 

The boy looked up and nodded, sensing her panic immediately.  “Sure thing, Mrs. C.”  He moved to the door and slid his feet into his tied sneakers.  “No cheatin’ while I’m gone, little man.”  Fitz waved him off.  He put his hand on the doorknob and almost fell backward as Phil pushed it open at the same time.  They practically tumbled over each other, much to Fitz’ amusement.  His laughter stopped at Melinda’s frown.

 

She stepped forward quickly as Phil grabbed Trip’s arm to keep him from falling backward.  “Is Skye with you?”  The question came out too fast, too anxious.

 

Phil wrinkled his brow as he answered.  “No…why?”  He immediately realized his wife’s panic.

 

Melinda felt more than saw the three sets of eyes that bored into her.  She looked only at Phil, telling him silently that she could not locate their tiniest child.

 

Jemma spoke up in her calm and reassuring voice.  “Maybe she’s in our room.”  She glanced at the clock.  “It is her regular nap period.”  It made perfect sense. she couldn’t understand why the others hadn’t realized it as well.

 

Phil nodded toward the girls’ room silently asking if Mel had checked there.  Melinda turned and moved toward it without a verbal or quick-look answer.  Phil gave Trip a quick pat on the shoulder and followed her.

 

Skye was on her little bed, arms wrapped tightly around Salty.  She held her thumb in her mouth, a sure sign that something was not right.  Melinda dropped to her knees next to the bed.  “Skye, baby, what’s wrong?”  She put her hand against the girl’s head and then her cheeks fearing she had picked up the same bug Fitz had just shaken.  Relieved to find the child cool, she pulled herself up to sit on the small bed and brought Skye and her stuffed bunny into her lap. 

 

“Baby girl, why are you in here all by yourself?”  Melinda crooned, kissing the little girl’s forehead.  Phil stepped into the room and dropped to his knees next to them.  He cupped his hand on the back of the child’s head and looked to his wife who shook her head telling him she had no idea what the problem could be.”

 

“Hey, sweet pickle…” Phil almost whispered, reaching out and taking the child from his wife.  He stood and bounced her a bit as he hugged her close and walked to the small window across the room.  Melinda watched, touched by his love for their baby and filled with adoration for both of them. 

 

Skye snuggled closer to her father, nuzzling her face into his neck and taking in the familiar scent of his aftershave.  She closed her eyes and pushed her thumb further into her mouth, now fully sucking on it rather than just holding it…something they’d never seen her do.  She pulled Salty closer and pressed herself into her daddy. 

 

Phil looked back to Melinda who had stood and walked toward them.  His eyes told her he had no idea what could be wrong.  He placed one hand at the back of Skye’s head and patted her backside with the other, unconsciously swaying from side to side in an attempt to comfort the child.  Melinda reached out and rubbed the little girl’s back.

 

“Baby, tell Mama and Daddy what wrong.  Are you sick?  Do you hurt?”  Melinda spoke softly as she and Phil moved to sit on Jemma’s bed.

 

Phil brought the little girl to sit on his lap.  She leaned against his chest, thumb still in her mouth and a death grip on Salty.  The stuffed rabbit was clutched around the neck.  Its head lolled to the side with its one black button eye appearing bugged out of its socket.  If the situation were different, Melinda probably would have laughed.  Skye’s eyes were squeezed shut tight almost as if she refused to look at her parents.  Although her thumb was still in her mouth she had stuck out the pinkie finger of that hand and slipped it around one of the buttons on Phil’s shirt in an attempt to hold on to him.

 

Looking down into her little pinched face, Phil coaxed.  “Come on, angel, you can tell us.”

 

Skye snuggled closer.  “I sorry,” she almost whispered around her thumb.

 

Melinda looked around the room for any sign of something out of place or broken or torn.  Everything seemed in tact…in place.  It was common for this little one to beg forgiveness before anyone knew what she’d done to need such.  The worst was the day she put a box of crayons into the dryer and managed to turn it on, creating a rainbow of melted wax all over the inside drum.  Melinda had to admit it was the first time she actually considered taking one of her brood over her knee and a call to the manufacturer was the only thing that saved Skye her first tender bottom.  Amazingly, a lot of waxed paper and several cycles, then the sacrifice of an old sheet saved the day.

 

Phil looked at Melinda and knew she was recalling that dreadful afternoon.  “Why are you sorry, angel?  Did you do something Mama and Daddy should know about?”  He remained calm without accusing or threatening the child.  Skye shook her head, but did not open her eyes.  She pulled Salty even closer and used the whole of her opposite hand to yank a fistful of Phil’s shirt into it.  She used it to pull into him, gathering herself and Salty up on her knees to wrap her free arm around his neck and bury her face there.

 

Phil shrugged his shoulders.  Melinda shook her head.  They were at a loss.  They’d never seen Skye like this and had no idea what to do or say to help her.   She hid behind the large wing backed chair in the living room for a long time the day of the dryer incident, but did not have this reaction, even when she was sent to her room for an equally long time-out.

 

Trip appeared at the door, representing the other kids and checking to see that Skye had been located and was okay.  He watched the little girl clinging to Phil as May once again rubbed her hand in circles on the child’s back.  “Uh-oh,” he laughed, “waja do now, girl?” 

 

Skye answered with a quick, angry squeak and squirmed in Phil’s embrace without turning around to face him.  Trip shrugged his shoulders and turned to leave.  This was definitely parent's work and if that little one was in any kind of trouble, he did not want to be witness to the repercussions.  If that baby monster was about to meet her comeuppance for whatever she did this time he was not about to stand and watch.

 

“Trip, wait,” Phil stopped his retreat.  Trip rolled his eyes before turning back.  Melinda wrinkled her brow in confusion, but Phil had an idea.  Skye had actually reacted to Trip’s comment, something she had not done with either of them.  He looked at the young boy as he approached and then quickly down at the child in his arms, motioning for him to take her.

 

Trip twisted his face into a ‘what?” expression but did as he was asked.  He held out his arms and spoke to Skye.  “Hey, girl, comere and tell me all about it.”  She turned from Phil, opened her eyes and reached for him, never losing her grip on that stuffed bunny.  The little girl more or less sat on his waist with her legs wrapped around him and his arms supporting her back.  Salty sat in the space between them.  She rubbed her fingers in what was left of his patchy fur.

 

Trip bounced her a few times and bent forward to look in her face.  “Tell me, babycakes.”  He smiled.

 

Skye looked up at her big brother.  Her bottom lip set in a pout.  She shook her head and leaned forward.  “Salty going.”  She stated quietly.

 

Trip wrinkled his nose and addressed the rabbit.  “Where are you goin’, almost fuzzy bunny-man?  Nobody said you could go anywhere Mr. Salt-man!”

 

Skye almost giggled then shook her head solemnly.  Trip smiled.  “Daddy say he haffa go to new house.”  She nodded.  “He say pack er bags.”  Trip looked to Phil and Melinda who looked like they wanted to slap themselves on the forehead. 

 

‘Of course! That was the problem!  What the hell was wrong with both of them?’ 

 

Both were on their feet and at Skye’s side before another word could be said.  “Hey, girl!” Trip smiled and again addressed the stuffed bunny.  “You are mistaken you silly rabbit, we are _ALL_ going to a new house.  Every-bunny, bunny!”

 

Phil took the little girl from Trip and turned her to face him.  Melinda stood next to them.  “Trip’s right, angel.”  He pulled her close and kissed her cheek.  “Mama and Jemma and the boys and I and **YOU _AND_ SALTY** are all going to go to a new house.  Everybody, all together.”

 

“And we are all going to live there together, forever.”  Melinda added, sealing the deal.  “We will never, ever send you away, Skye.  You and Salty are suck with us.”

 

Jemma and Fitz appeared in the doorway.  Trip motioned them in and sniggered at the crazy family he had grown to love.  He wrapped his arms around the ‘twins’ as the entire family stood in the smallest room in the apartment. 

 

 

For as hectic as moving can be, the entire process went without a hitch.  Of course it was with a lot of help from Mack and Yoyo, who when they weren’t lifting and transporting boxes were caring for a small whirlwind who was more hindrance than help.  New furniture was purchased, delivered and set up with plenty of help from everyone and in just over two weeks the family was spending their first night in their new home.

 

Mack and Yoyo appeared with a large basket as a traditional house-warming gift.  Wine, bread and salt brought a confused grimace to both Phil and Melinda’s faces.

 

“Wine,” Mack held up the bottle and smiled, “that your house is always filled with happiness.”  He pulled a smaller bottle and held it in the opposite hand.  “And grape juice if you are underage,” he chuckled as Phil set glasses on the large island in the center of the kitchen.

 

“Bread,” Yoyo set the still warm loaf on a cutting board, “that you never know hunger of any kind.”  She pulled knife from the drawer, which had recently been filled with new cutlery, and sliced the bread.  “I also brought my very special Queso dip because it goes so well with this nice warm brown bread.”  She broke a piece of crust and dipped it into the thick golden mixture then handed to Fitz who had no problem tasting it.  The little boy rolled his eyes upward and reached for more.

 

“Salt?”  Melinda questioned as she lifted the last item from the basket.

 

“Of course, salt, that your lives are full of flavor!”  Mack raised his wine glass before taking a sip.

 

The thunder of small footfalls came right on cue as Skye crashed into the room dragging Salty with her.  “MACK!  O-YO!”  She bellowed as she leapt into the large man’s arms seconds after he was able to set the glass he’d been holding in a safe location.

 

“Whoa, Tremors!  Take it easy on me kid.”  He pretended to be knocked off balance as he lifted her and the stuffed bunny above his head, then brought her down into his arms.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. 

 

“Why you call me fremors, Mack?”  She smiled at Yoyo.  “It be my birday, O-yo.”  Her eyes widened with excitement.  “I have a birday!”

 

Mack tickled her belly and she giggled as she squirmed to get down.  “Because you really shake things up, baby girl,” he answered her question although he was sure she’d already forgotten it was asked.

 

Melinda handed her a small plastic cup of juice and directed her to the table.  “Skye’s birthday is next weekend,” she confirmed the child’s announcement.  “We’ve been explaining to her what that means.  I don’t think she’s ever celebrated her birthday before so this is all new.  She’s pretty excited but I really don’t think she knows what it is.  You’ll come help us celebrate, I hope.”  She invited the couple as she helped Skye up onto a chair.  The little girl immediately stood up on it and reached for the bread knocking her cup over and sending purple juice across the new tablecloth.  The little girl dropped the bread chunk she had snatched and turned to her mother, her lip already in a pout and tears brimming in her eyes.

 

Fitz and Trip pushed their chairs back to avoid wearing the grape juice.  “Not again,” Fitz moaned wiping his wet hand on a few napkins.  “I think you are wrong, Mack,” he frowned as the large man squatted down to help him wipe the splatter from his face and shirt.  “I think she’s more of an _earthquake_ than a mere tremor.”  

 

Mack laughed and rubbed the top of the little boy’s head as he stood up.  “You have a point, Turbo.  She is a force to be reckoned with, isn’t she?”

 

“It’s only juice.”  Phil stated calmly as he pulled a wad of paper towels to soak up the mess.  “Our new table is now officially christened,” he laughed.  “Would anyone like to say a few words?”  Everyone laughed at his dumb joke.

 

Yoyo took Skye from the chair, before Melinda could gather her into her arms, and sat with her on her lap.  She poured a bit of juice into the plastic cup and placed a few chunks of bread in front of the little girl.  “No hay problema niña.”   She hugged the little girl and wiped away her tears with one of the napkins from the pile on the table.

 

“I still have a birday?”  Skye asked timidly. 

 

“Tendrás el mejor cumpleaños de todos, cariña.”  Yoyo assured her, kissing the top of her head and wrapping her arms around the child and the large bunny.  “Hey, what’s with this rabbit today?  I thought he liked to sit on your bed.”

 

Melinda smiled her thanks at her friend and moved to help Phil with the cleaning.

 

Skye pulled the bunny into her lap and turned it to look into its face.  “I show him alla new house so him know we heero now.”  She explained.

 

“I see,” Yoyo remained very serious.  “And your bunny, he likes this new house?” 

 

Skye nodded, “Mama say we be gether forever.”  She looked at Melinda, who smiled and nodded in agreement.

 

“Si, por siempre, niña, por siempre.”  Yoyo squeezed her tighter.

 

Skye tilted her head back and looked up at Yoyo.  “You come for my birday.  We have a cake.”

 

Mack scooped the little girl from his friend’s lap.  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Tremors.”  He twirled her around once, set her down and sent her out of the kitchen with Fitz and Jemma close behind. 

 

Trip popped cheesy bread chunk into his mouth and spoke around it as he rose from his seat.  “Better follow the troops before trouble finds ‘em.”  He leaned back and snatched a last bit of the bread and dip before hurrying to catch up to his siblings.

 

 

 

A few hours later Melinda stood outside the girls’ new bedroom listening to Skye’s little voice as she sang to her stuffed bunny.

 

“Be Salty O’Gud untude devons. Led I goree beaver dirt.”  She sang in earnest, stopping when her mother entered the room.

 

“Don’t stop, baby.  I love your song.”  Melinda smiled.  “Did you learn it at school?”  She wondered what the words were since Skye’s version made little sense.”

 

“No,” Skye shook her head and bounced on her knees on her new bed.  “It Salty’s song.  Sisser Care sing it for me and him alla time.”  She stopped bouncing, tilted her head and looked into the bunny’s one eye.  “She sing it when Salty be sad,” she sighed as she turned a sad face toward her mother.

 

“She did?”  Melinda asked as she scooped the little girl off the bed and pulled down the covers. “Is Salty sad?”  The rabbit lay on the bed in a tangle of fuzzy arms and legs.  Its ears hung down giving the appearance of sadness.

 

Skye stared at the rabbit for what seemed like a long time then shook her head.  “No he not sad.  He like it heero.  Sometime he miss Sisser Care so I sing hoewa song for him.”  She explained so seriously that Melinda could barely keep a straight face.

 

“Well, it is a beautiful song.”  Melinda told her, just as seriously.  “Maybe, since Salty here misses her, we can invite Sister Mary Clair to your birthday.  Would you like that?”  She suggested as she laid the little girl against her pillows and brought the blanket up to her chin.  Skye rubbed the blanket against her nose and nodded.

 

“Salty go heero.”   She pointed to the space between her pillow and the wall.  Melinda gave a quick nod and sat the bunny in his place. 

 

“Salty no go wit Sisser Care.”  Skye’s statement was almost a question.  Melinda knew the little girl was asking for reassurance that she would not be taken back to the orphanage should her friend come to visit.  Sister Mary Clair would always be welcome but Skye would always equate her with being ‘given back’.

 

Melinda bent down and kissed her forehead.  “Never, never, **never** ever.  You are _my_ baby and nobody is taking you anywhere ever.”  She kissed her eyes, nose, cheeks, and chin then addressed the bunny sitting lopsided at the head of the bed.  “Right, Salty?”  She pretended to hear the toy’s reply.  “Yep, he agrees.  He’s never leaving.” 

 

Skye stared at the bunny for a few seconds then turned to Melinda reaching up to her with wiggly fingers.  Melinda bent down allowing the little girl to hug her neck before sitting back.  “I love you, Mama.”  Skye smiled.

 

“Māmā yǒngyuǎn ài nǐ.”  Melinda smiled back.

 

“Whoa eye nee.”  Skye replied, slowly and carefully pronouncing the Mandarin words Melinda had taught her.  The little girl yawned and turned on her side as her mother sang a lullaby she remembered her own mother singing to her.

 

On this first night in their new home, the Coulson family slept through the night.


	27. Happy Birthday to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a celebration  
> a new house  
> a new beginning  
> and  
> a first real birthday

 

The hope that a new house, or rather a new beginning, might alleviate Skye’s night terrors was quickly dashed and four days later, the youngest member of the Coulson family was moved into the bedroom at the farthest end of the upstairs hall.  Jemma had been awakened each night by her little sister’s terrified shrieks and was so shaken she could not go back to sleep.  Phil and Melinda spent the better part of the last few nights consoling not only the two girls but a quite upset Fitz, as well.  If anything, the new house had made Skye’s nightmares worse and in turn made it worse on everyone else.  The second night in the new place she woke three times and Melinda finally took her to sleep on the living room sofa so that Phil and Jemma could share the queen size bed in the master bedroom.  She found Fitz there as well in the morning.  No one went to school that day, as everyone was exhausted.  With the exception of the very first night, Skye had woken every night since and moving her as far away as possible from the other kids’ rooms seemed the best idea, even though it was a much farther sprint for Melinda to get to her in the wee hours of the morning. 

 

Last night had been no different and as Melinda lay in her bed reminiscing about the last six months and how their not so little family had grown, Skye slept soundly pressed close to her side.  Phil had dragged himself out of bed about an hour ago and wandered downstairs, but she had not yet heard the rustling mumble of the older kids as they emerged from their beds.

 

It was Saturday, usually a day to relax and do all of the things that there was never time for during the week.  This Saturday was not so relaxing as it was the day before Skye’s first real birthday party and there were preparations to be made.  Relaxing today, or tomorrow, would not be an option. 

 

Melinda looked at the small clock on the nightstand next to her bed, seven a.m.  Well, that was about two hours more than she usually slept and about three and half hours since she actually went to sleep.  She slid slowly off the mattress so not to wake the little girl next to her.  Skye whined a bit but once Melinda tucked the blanket around her, she rolled into a ball and snuggled into the large bed.  With any luck, she’d sleep at least until nine, giving her parents a few hours of not only adult time, but also time to put some finishing touches on the celebration they planned for their youngest.  Sure, she wasn’t turning a year old, but it was her _first_ birthday.

 

Making a quick check in the other bedrooms before heading to the kitchen, Melinda found Jemma and the boys also in deep slumber.  She smiled as she padded down the carpeted stairs enjoying the luxury of having the bedrooms far enough away from the kitchen that she and Phil could enjoy each other’s conversation without having to worry about their voices waking their brood.

 

“Good morning,” Phil grinned over his ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug.  He leaned against the sink in an old sweatshirt with the sleeves cut short and thread worn jeans.  “Coulda used Trip’s help with that bike, but I managed.”

 

Melinda stifled a laugh as she set the kettle on the stove and dropped a tea bag into the mug he handed to her.  “Maybe he should take a look at it when he gets up, or at least before we give it to her.”

 

“I’m insulted.” Phil quipped with a stone face expression.  “It held me…”

 

“You rode it?”  Melinda laughed out loud.

 

“You wouldn’t expect me to let my baby use anything I wouldn’t use myself.”  Phil raised his mug in a toast-like motion.  He took a long sip and smiled, “besides, I only had about six pieces left over.”  Melinda backhanded him across the chest as she passed.  Phil feigned pain as he pulled an ‘ow’ face, then smiled again.  “Seriously, I’ll have Trip and Fitz make sure it’s Skye-worthy before she gets anywhere near it.” 

 

Melinda nodded as she sliced the lemon she had pulled from the new refrigerator. 

 

“Breakfast?” Phil asked, reaching for the pot to refill his mug.

 

She shook her head.  “Not yet.  Hopefully, the kids will sleep a few more hours.  I’ll wait for them.”  The teakettle began to whistle.   Melinda quickly pulled it from the stove by force of habit, knowing the kids probably wouldn’t hear it but not taking any chances.

 

Phil moved behind her and placed his hands on her hips, leaning over her shoulder to place a soft kiss on her neck.  “Gives us some time to get to know one another,” he snickered and continued kissing her.

 

Melinda continued pouring water over the teabag in her mug then turned in Phil’s arms and wrapped hers around his neck.  She kissed him before he could make a comment then leaned back while they both caught their breath.  “I think,” she kissed him again, “we are” and again, “way past getting to know each other.”  She kissed him once more and turned back to retrieve her mug.  His hands remained on her hips as he pressed against her and swayed back and forth in his version of a romantic dance step.

 

“Phil,” Melinda smiled around a sip of her tea as she swayed to the unheard music.

 

“Hmmmmm,” he smiled with his head resting on her shoulder.

 

“They’re coming with the tables by eight.”

 

“Mmm hmm,” he agreed.

 

“Fitz and Trip have a dentist appointment at noon.”

 

“Yep,” he sighed.

 

“The cake has to be picked up before the bakery closes at three.”

 

“Absolutely,” he nodded against her and locked his arms around her waist as he continued to sway.

 

“Skye’s in our bed, Phil…”   She was weakening.  He could feel it.

 

“No one’s in hers.”  He whispered into her neck.

She lightly slapped his hands.   “Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

 

Skye lead the charge as the kids made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen.  Fitz staggered in behind her, both yawning widely.  Skye went straight for Melinda stretching her arms out to be picked up.  Melinda complied then wrapped an arm around Fitz’ shoulders and placed a quick kiss on his head before he could squirm away.  He rubbed both hands briskly over his head, pulled a chair from the table then flopped down on it.

 

“Are you making breakfast, then?”  He rested his cheek on his propped up hand and looked up at Melinda.  Apparently, the boy had noticed Phil’s absence.

 

Skye had closed her eyes and dropped her head on Melinda’s shoulder.  She whined softly as her mother jostled her before placing her on the booster seat that gave her much better access to the table.  The little girl sat back and pushed her hair away from her face.  She blinked a few times at the brightness in the large kitchen.  “Mama, I need go potty.”

 

Fitz slapped his hands over his eyes as Melinda snatched the little girl off the chair and hurried into the powder room down the hall from the kitchen.   Jemma and Trip wandered in through the opposite door and pulled out their own chairs to sit down.

 

“Where is everybody?”  Trip yawned.  Fitz jerked a thumb toward the hall that led to the bathroom keeping the opposite hand over his eyes.

 

Phil pushed the backdoor opened and greeted his crew.  “Well, it’s about time you slackers dragged yourselves out of bed, thought you’d sleep all day.”  He wiped his hands on the rag he held and kissed Jemma on top of the head as he passed.  “Where’s your mother and Skye?”  Three thumbs pointed in tandem toward the small bathroom as the sound of flushing completed the answer to the question.

 

“DADDY!”  Skye’s wide-awake voice echoed in the hall as she dashed toward him.  Her bare feet slapped against the hardwood floor as she ran into his arms. 

 

“Good morning, angel eyes,” Phil swooped her up and around before kissing her cheeks and hugging her close.  “How’s my little hug-bug?”

 

“I use a potty inna closet, Daddy.  Juss a potty, no battub.”  She held out both hands and shrugged her shoulders, amazed and confused by the small bathroom.  “Mama say it a powder oom, but I see no powder, juss a potty anna sink.”  The kitchen erupted in laughter as Melinda took Skye from her father and put her back on her special seat.

 

Phil rubbed his hands together, smiled a goofy smile and wriggled his eyebrows.  “Who wants pancakes?”

 

 

The day was as hectic as predicted.  After the rental company delivered and set up several folding tables and stacked enough chairs for the small gathering that would celebrate not only Skye’s fourth birthday, but the Coulsons’ relocation to the suburbs, Phil and the boys double and triple checked the assembly of the little red bicycle that would be one of the birthday girl’s gifts.  While Melinda wrestled Skye into the morning ritual of bathing after a night of night terrors that always came complete with a soaked bed, Fitz did in fact do a few test runs with the small bike before Trip securely attached the training wheels.  Giving it a thumbs up, the boys then helped Phil place a large bow on the handlebars and stash it behind a stack of boxes in the garage.

 

With lists of tasks in hand the family set out to accomplish their missions of the day.  Phil was to escort the boys to the dentist, pick up ice cream then return home to string lights throughout the back yard and anchor coverings on all tables.  May and the girls visited the salon for a scheduled trim which turned out to be a struggle to hold one small child still enough to assure the hair cut was even.  The female half of the family then traveled back into the city to pick up Skye’s birthday cake at Phil’s favorite bakery.  The little girl was in awe of a cake almost as big as her decorated with hues of pink and purple proclaiming “Happy Birthday, Skye” in large pink letters.  The lady behind the counter let her pick out a special candle.  She chose a large number four emblazed with gold and silver stars that the lady said would sparkle when it was lit. 

 

Melinda watched as Skye chattered with Jemma and the woman working in the bakery, both thrilled and saddened by her baby’s excitement over tomorrow’s event.  Skye was turning four on the anniversary of the date the Sisters’ of St. Agnes had found her on the steps of the church.  The doctors had guessed her age at the time to be about six to eight weeks, but since no one was sure of her exact date of birth, the certificate issued by the state held the date she was found and not the date she entered the world.  In her short lifetime, the little girl had never had a real birthday celebration.  The custom at the orphanage was to celebrate and include anyone turning a year older once a month.  There was no singing or candles or gifts, as Sister Mary Clair had explained.  Having that many children made such things a little impossible.  So on that day, once a month, everyone had cake and ice cream and said a special prayer in thanks for another year.  Melinda wondered if Skye had ever understood the reason for the small celebration. She wondered if the little girl had been there last year or was she with a family who in the end didn’t want her.  She shook off the thought as she listened to Skye’s high-pitched laughter.  It didn’t matter; from this year on, they would celebrate her birthday every year.  They’d celebrate everyone’s birthday on their date of birth, every year. 

 

By four o’clock, everyone was back at home and exhausted.  Trip flopped sideways over one of the large new armchairs while Fitz draped himself facedown over the arm of the just as new sofa.  A much more ladylike Jemma curled up on the opposite side of the couch and rested her head on the familiar blue pillows.  Skye simply collapsed on the floor refusing to give into sleep when crying seemed so much more reasonable.  Melinda scooped her up, banished everyone to their beds for a nap then followed the protesting group up the stairs to be sure they followed her orders.  Within fifteen minutes, the house was silent giving mom and dad the opportunity to collect on the rain check they had given each other that morning.

 

 

 

Mack and Yoyo arrived hours before the party was to start on Sunday, offering their help for whatever needed to be done.  They carried a large package wrapped in yellow paper with blue and red dots and a large red ribbon.  Skye was amazed at the site and even more surprised to find out it was meant for her.  Unlike most four-year-olds who would beg to tear off the paper to find the treasure within, the little girl was content just to stare and gentle caress the large bow. 

 

“Mama say I non’t get dressed to later.”  Skye explained to Yoyo who had questioned her lack of footwear.  “I gets ownee **_ONE_** bath today.” She held up one finger emphasizing the point.

 

“Ohhhh,” Yoyo raised her brows and nodded at the child, trying to remain just as serious.  “And this is why no tienes zapatos, carina?”  The woman fell into her native language, pointing at the child’s wiggling toes.  “Son tus pies fríos?”

 

Skye looked at her feet then held out her hands, palms up, in front of her.  “O-yo, I non’t hasta have shoes if I gots no clothes.”  The woman laughed as the little girl shook her head.

 

The little girl wandered off to join her siblings in the large sunroom that had been officially been named the ‘family room’ and contained the boys’ video console and games and every toy that did not fit into the box in Skye’s room.  There was also a television, desk and plenty of space for everyone to do what made them happy without annoying anyone else.  Skye’s favorite spot was next to Fitz at the large table set up just for Legos.

 

Melinda stood in the doorway sipping a cup of tea after handing Yoyo a mug of coffee.  “She’s also taking a nice long nap before anyone arrives.  A cranky, miserable Skye is a definite downer for any kind of party.”  Yoyo nodded in agreement watching as the little girl dashed from Fitz’ side to pounce on Trip who had been lying on the couch engrossed in watching a basketball game.  He let out a loud ‘oomph’ as Skye landed on his stomach.

 

“Seems like everyone is settling in the new house,” Yoyo stated as both women walked toward the kitchen. 

 

Melinda nodded as she peered out the kitchen window at Mack and Phil as they inflated helium balloons, tied them and then gave them to Jemma who was carefully dispersing them around the yard.  Fitz had been helping as well, but after sending three skyward and popping two more, he was banished to making sure there was enough ice in the coolers set on the patio.  He’d slumped into the house looking like a kicked puppy.  Melinda pulled him into her lap and wrapped her arms around him.  She was the only one he’d allow to do that and only when he was upset or extremely tired.  She didn’t say anything, just held him, kissed his head, and hummed the same tune she would sing when he woke from his own nightmares, the ones only he and his mom knew about.  After a bit, he slid off her lap and followed Trip into the family room.  Phil had more for them to do and he’d call when he needed them. 

 

“Other than the fact that we are all dealing with sleep deprivation, yes, we are settling in just fine.”  Melinda stated as she turned back to face her friend.  They sat across from each other at the table, taking a few minutes before returning to the preparations.

 

“Not sleeping?  Too much space, perhaps?”  Yoyo wondered.

 

“Wishing it was that simple,” Melinda sighed as she sipped her tea.  Yoyo tilted her head and knit her brows in confusion.  “Skye’s still having nightmares.  I thought they might get better once we got out of that little apartment and she knew she was safe with us, but they seem to be getting worse.”

 

“Si, pesadillas, the worst,” Yoyo shook her head.  “When I was a child, mi abuela would tell us of La Llorona, who would come to take children that did not stay in their home.  Many nights the children would wake screaming in the night.”

 

Melinda shuddered.  “We’ve never told Skye or any of our kids anything like that, but yes my mother had some horror stories as well.  Probably the same thing her mother told her.”

 

Yoyo laughed. “Frighten your children into behaving does not sound like being a good parent.”

 

Melinda shook her head.  “Who knows what someone else could have told her.  I just wish we had some kind of answers.” 

 

On cue, Skye skipped through the kitchen to the back door and reached for the knob.  Noticing the ninety-degree shift in the child’s PJ bottoms, Melinda knew she had recently visited the bathroom.  “Did you wash your hands?”  She asked as she rose to catch the child before she escaped out the door.  “And where do you think you’re going?”  She smiled as she caught her under the arms and lifted her from the floor.”

 

“I did.”  Skye protested with a pout, holding out both hands and turning them front to back.  “I go help Daddy and Mack!”  She kicked her feet and squirmed to be released.

 

Melinda spun her around and plopped her on her hip.  “I don’t think so, bao bao.”  She lowered her forehead until it touched the little girl’s.  “You have no shoes.”

 

Skye stuck out one foot and stared at it.  “I gots slip-slops, ober there.”  She pointed to the mudroom where the kids had already piled shoes and jackets.

 

Melinda looked at the clock and shook her head.  “Nope, no slip-slops today, airén.”  Skye whined and bounced up and down in her mother’s arms.

 

She pointed toward the door and cried.  “I needa go outside.”  She straightened her legs and tried slipping from May’s arms.

 

Melinda laughed and tightened her grip, bringing the little girl back to sit on her hip.  “No, no baby girl, I think it’s time for a nap.”  Skye threw back her head and bellowed her protest.  Melinda quickly caught her as she leaned back and pulled her back. 

 

“I no need a nap.  It my birday.”  Skye sobbed.

 

Yoyo stood and moved to join them.  “Even birthday girls need to take a nap, carina.”  Skye shook her head causing her hair to sway back and forth and continued bouncing to be put down.  Yoyo laughed and lightly pinched her cheek.  “Mmmm, mommi, no me gustaría ver a la chica de cumpleaños conseguir una nalgada en su día especial.”

 

Melinda smiled as she gently brought Skye’s head to her shoulder and gave her a few pats on the bottom as she swayed side to side.  “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”  She started toward the hallway that led to the stairs.  “Say, night-night to Yoyo, baby.”  Skye lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers at Yoyo.  Her eyes were already heavy with sleep.

 

In the two hours that Skye slept peacefully, Yoyo and Melinda were able to finish preparing all the food platters and dips, place plates, napkins and utensils within reach of all the tables and assure that all beverages were on ice.  Phil and Mack set up a makeshift bar with adult beverages and tested to be sure the sound system would not rock the neighbors’ homes.  The new grill that had been purchased during the week was assembled with help from the boys.  Mack and Trip started the charcoal bricks and Phil donned a silly cook’s apron that sported a dopey saying.

 

The biggest surprise was the arrival of Bobbi and Hunter who explained that they were in the country with a French dignitary and had the afternoon off while he spent time at the embassy.  Neither Phil nor Melinda believed their story but today was not the day to press that issue.  It was great to see them.  Jemma and Fitz were overjoyed to reconnect with friends from their homeland.

 

Melinda ordered all kids to change their clothes and disappeared to wrestle the birthday girl into the tub.  While Skye played and soaked clean, Melinda sat Jemma on the closed toilet seat and helped with her hair then marched Fitz back to change from a tattered T-shirt to the new button down purchased for the occasion.  The little boy groaned and stuck out his tongue when Trip laughed at his plight.

 

 

 

Skye stood staring at her flexion in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door.  She marveled at the yellow bow Melinda had attached to her hair.  It matched the yellow and white dress she now wore with white anklets and black Mary Janes.  She turned from one side to the other, then turned all the way around and tried to look at her image over one shoulder.  Turning back, she pointed to the mirror.  “Looka me, Mama, I pretty.”  She smiled and patted the bow on her head.

 

Melinda knelt at her side and looked into the mirror.  “Oh, my sweet little baby girl, you are always pretty.”  She wrapped an arm around her and kissed the little girl’s forehead as Skye continued to stare at herself in the mirror.

 

“I non’t gots no pretty dresses like this, Mama.”  She gently rubbed her hands down the sides of the dress.  “This a birday dress, Mama?  Then it not mine no more?”

 

Sometimes Skye’s innocent questions broke Melinda’s heart.  Here she was, all of four-years-old and asking if this simple dress was hers to keep.  She’d grown up, so far, in a place where nothing was truly hers and everything was shared.  A party dress she wore today would be worn by another little girl tomorrow and then again another child on another day.

 

“No, baby, this is your dress and only yours and you can wear it whenever you want.”  May smiled at the little girl who turned to look at her.  She tapped the end of Skye’s nose as she stood and put out her hand.  “So, how about we go downstairs and greet all the people who are here to see my pretty little girl on her very special fourth birthday.” 

 

 

 

Skye made it to the back door before she reached up to be carried. Greeting so many people at one time was a little overwhelming for the little girl.  Melinda pushed back the curtain and let her look out to see who had already arrived.  Skye recognized some of the people she could see.  They were people that worked in Daddy’s office; she smiled at the girl who let her make what Jemma called confetti in the paper grinder.  She saw Darienne’s mommy with a man that was maybe Darienne’s daddy cuz she was sitting on his lap.  Darienne was wearing a pretty dress, too.  So was Jemma, but she was sitting next to a man she didn’t know.  He had a scruffy face and buggy eyes.  There was a pretty lady with them.  She had yellow hair and a happy smile when she talked to Jemma.  Fitz was with them and he was laughing, so they must be friendly people.  She looked for Daddy and Trip, but couldn’t see them with all the people in their yard.  There were kids she didn’t know running all over and more balloons than she had ever seen in one place.

 

“I stay heero, a-kay, mama?”  Skye whispered to Melinda, suddenly unsure of joining the party.

 

Before Melinda could answer, the doorbell sounded.  “Well, how about we answer the door and see who is at the door and then we’ll find Daddy.”  Skye nodded but refused to be put down, holding on to Melinda tighter.

 

Melinda pulled the front door open to greet a smiling Sr. Mary Clair.  Skye’s eye’s widened for a moment then she put both arms around her mother’s neck.  “Sisser Care,” she smiled as she rested her head on Melinda’s shoulder.  “I stay with mama.  I stay heero.”

 

Sr. Mary Clair stepped into the house as Melinda closed the door.  “Of course, you will stay here sweetheart.  This is your home now and I am so happy to see you.”  She reached out and patted the little girl’s leg.  “You look so beautiful.”  She smiled at Melinda, silently thanking and praising her for taking the child and making her so very happy.

 

“You comed to my birday?”  Skye asked as she raised her head and lessened her grip on her mother.

 

“I would not miss it, my darling.”  Sr. Mary Clair put out her arms and Skye looked to Melinda who nodded.  The little girl let go and fell into the sister’s embrace.  “I do miss you, Skye.”  She hugged the child to her and kissed her cheek. 

 

“I not go with you, Sisser.  You jus bizit me.”  The little girl nodded as she spoke.  “I gots a mama and a daddy and a Frip and a Fizz and a Zemma.”  She held up a finger for each family member.  “I not go with you.”  She reassured herself.

 

The nun set the little girl down on the floor and reached into the purse she carried on her shoulder.  “No, Skye you won’t go with me.  This is your home, forever.”  She smiled and quickly wiped away the tear that escaped from her eye.  “I brought you something, something very special.”  She looked to Melinda for permission to give the child what she had.  At Melinda’s nod, she opened a small box withdrawing a small gold cross on a delicate chain.  Skye’s eyes went wide as she recognized the small charm.  Sr. Mary Clair opened the clasp and placed it around the little girl’s neck. 

 

Skye placed a hand on the cross and looked from the nun to her mother.  “Look, mama, sisser gived me hoer cross.”  Melinda fingered the little cross and looked to the nun with concern.

 

“My grandma put that on my neck the day of my First Communion.”  She smiled at the memory.  “Skye has admired it since she was old enough to put it in her mouth,” she laughed at the memory of the toothless infant attempting to gnaw on the small piece.  “I am honored to have her wear it.”  She looked down to Skye.  “Father Joe blessed it just this morning, just for you.”

 

Skye grabbed her mother’s hand and tugged her toward the kitchen.  She stopped and reached for the nun’s hand as well.  “Mon,” she urged, “I show Zemma.”

 

The afternoon was full of celebration as guests greeted the Coulson’s and made a fuss over their youngest child.  Bobbi and Hunter were the most guilty immediately falling for the wide eyed little girl.  Fitz warned Hunter when he took Skye onto his lap and soon wore most of her apple juice and all of the green sprinkles off the cookie she had taken from his plate. 

 

“She doesn’t eat the green decorations.”  Fitz shrugged as he bit into his fourth cookie.  “There’s no logical explanation for it.  They all taste the same.”  He laughed out a spray of cookie crumbs as his little sister left Hunter’s lap pulling the table cloth and dumping a bowl of cheese dip into the man’s lap.  Hunter jumped to his feet.  “I did warn you, mate.”  He winked at the man.  “Come on then, I’ll show you to the powder room.  Mom says those baby wipe things take everything out.  I think there’s some in there.”  He took Hunter’s hand and led him into the house.

 

The climax of the party came when the guest of honor was placed in front of her large pink and purple decorated birthday cake.  Phil lit the large number four candle in addition to four smaller candles.  The large candle sparkled with a crackling flame.  Skye stared in awe, never having seen anything like this.  Melinda and Phil stood behind her as she stood on one of the rented folding chairs with her siblings surrounding her.  Mack was ready with the camera as the group sang off key wishing Skye a very Happy Birthday.  Unlike most children her age, Skye merely watched the candles as the song wound down, mesmerized by the tiny flames. 

 

“Make a wish, girl!”  Trip urged.  “Make it a good one!”

 

“Blow out the candles,”  Fitz implored, anxious to taste the cake and ice cream that would go with it.

 

“Give her time,” Jemma scolded.  “Take your time, Skye.  It is _your_ birthday.”

 

“Go ahead, baby.”  Melinda smiled.

 

“Want Daddy to help?”  Phil wriggled his brows as he took a deep breath and pretended to get ready to extinguish the candles.

 

Skye laughed then took a quick intake of breath and with a loud whoosh blew out the smaller candles.  The larger one still sparkled.  She blew again, then took a deep exaggerated breath and blew again.  The number four candle flickered a bit but held its own.

 

“I think this baby girl needs some help,” Trip shrugged as he took a breath and held it.  Jemma and Fitz followed suit.  Melinda and Phil did the same and together the family extinguished the sparkly flame to a round of applause and cheers.  Mack snapped the picture at the exact moment,

 

That picture would be framed and would forever hold a special place on the family’s mantle.


	28. Be Exalted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sister Mary Claire shares the story of Salty and leaves Melinda and Phil needing much more

 

The party wound down slowly, with guests thanking their hosts and taking their leave.  Skye donned a new helmet and made circles in the driveway on her new bike, with Trip holding the handle bars to keep her balanced.  She sported band-aids on both knees from a spill on the concrete while chasing a floating balloon and wore a sample of pretty much everything she had eaten.  By the time, the last guest made an exit the little girl was seated on her mother’s lap, yawning and rubbing both eyes. 

 

The lone guests sat at the tables toasting the success of the day.  It wasn’t unusual to see Bobbie, Hunter, Mack and Yoyo sharing a drink as well as stories, jokes and just good conversation.  Melinda scooted the older children off to bed with little protest and rose with an almost sleeping Skye in her arms.  Phil rose as well walking toward her with his arms outstretched.

 

“Let me,” he offered quietly, “you sit.”

 

“I’ve got her, it’s okay.”  Melinda let him know.  “I’ll put her down and be right back.”

 

Sister Mary Claire stood from where she had been quietly observing.  “Please,” she begged.  “Let me.”  Melinda knew how much the woman cared for the little girl and missed the time they had spent together.  She kissed Skye’s forehead and allowed the nun to take her.  “Last door on the right,” she directed.  “Her pajamas are on her bed.”  The nun nodded and turned toward the house already whispering softly to the tired little girl in her arms.

 

 

It took a practiced Sr. Mary Claire very little time to get Skye washed and changed.  She tucked the little girl into her bed and pulled Salty next to her.

 

“I not go with you, sisser.”  Skye yawned, gently pushing the toy away.  “Salty goes thero.”  She pointed to the corner of her bed where the stuffed bunny sat each night.

 

Sr. Mary Claire picked up the ragged rabbit and spoke to it.  “I thought maybe tonight you might like to sleep with Skye.”

 

“Him non’t” Skye answered.  “Him likes it thero.”  She pointed again, tears brimming in her eyes.  Sr. M Claire and Salty together meant one thing to Skye; it meant a return to St. Agnes.  It meant a loss of the family she had grown to love.  She loved the Sister but she loved her mama much, much more. 

 

Sister Mary Claire knew why the bunny sat atop a pillow, close to the wall seemingly over Skye’s head.  In the little girl’s mind, the stuffed creature set as sentinel, watching over her and keeping her grounded to the spot.  If Salty stayed, Skye knew she would as well.  When it was time to leave, Salty would go with her.  The only time she would hug the animal close was at St. Agnes’, the place that had remained her constant.  When she was ‘returned’, it was always to St. Agnes’.

 

“You’ve done a very good job, Salty.”  The nun spoke to the toy bunny.  “You’ve been watching over our little Skye for some time now, making sure she would find just the right family to love her forever and ever.  You’ve found the perfect one just for her, haven’t you?” 

 

Skye watched the conversation and pulled the sheet up to wipe the tears that blurred her vision.  Sister was telling Salty that he was not going back, he was going to stay here…forever…and she would stay with him, because Salty always stayed with her, no matter what.

 

“I think he can sleep with you now, Skye because he doesn’t have to be the guard anymore.  He knows he’s going to stay here with you.”  The little girl watched as the nun slowly moved the toy’s head so it appeared to be nodding.  “You know Salty,” she turned the rabbit’s head so it appeared to be paying close attention. “Every time you and Skye came back to me we sat in our special chair and sang your song.”  She noticed Skye nodding at her statement.  “Should I sing your special song to you, Salty so you know you are home here, forever?”  Skye smiled and Sr. made the rabbit nod again.

 

“You sing Salty heero?”  She sat up and took the rabbit from the nun, hugging it to her chest.  “Then we be home?”  The little girl’s brows rose to almost to her hairline.

 

“You _are_ home, sweetheart.”  Sr. Mary Claire leaned forward and kissed the child’s forehead then gently pushed her back to her pillow and pulled the covers to her chin.  She brushed the stray hairs from Skye’s face and caressed her cheek with the back of her fingers.  “Shhhh, now my little bird, it’s time to sleep, right here in your very own bed in your very own house.”  Skye rolled to her side taking Salty with her and slid the opposite hand under her cheek.”

 

“Be Salty, sisser, be salty.”  She urged, peeking at the nun with one open eye.

 

Sr. Mary Claire began singing softly while stroking the child’s hair and alternately rubbing her back.  “Be exalted, oh God, above the heavens.  Let thy glory be over all the earth…” *

 

Melinda waited in the doorway listening until the nun finished, stood and kissed the child one more time.  She made a soft sound to alert the older woman of her presence although she felt that the woman already knew she was there.  “You have a lovely voice, sister.”  She stated as she stepped into the room and walked to Skye’s bedside.  She stood next to Sr. Mary Claire and watched the little girl sleep.  “I recognize the tune and now the words finally make sense.  I’ve heard Skye’s version.”  She stifled a laugh.  “It’s quite a bit different.”

 

“I imagine so,” the nun laughed slightly.  “She has a way with words, this little one.”  She smiled again as Melinda bent to kiss the little girl.

 

“I’d love to hear the whole story.  The kids are finally sleeping.  Would you like a cup of tea?  You can tell me all about Salty, because I’m sure it is quite a tale.”  Melinda smiled as she led the woman from the room.

 

 

Sister M. Claire sat at the kitchen table with a fine china teacup and saucer before her.  Melinda smiled at it.  Her parents had given her the beautiful set of china as a wedding gift.  She had very little occasion to use it.  She stood at the back door with her favorite mug and watched as Phil laughed at some quip Mack had made.  It was almost nine p.m. and their small group of friends still sat in the back yard ‘catching up’.    Turning, she smiled at the nun who sat quietly stirring her steaming tea. 

 

“It seems like Skye has always had Salty.”  She began as Melinda sat across from her.  “We get a lot of donations for the children at St. Agnes’ and it falls to one or more of us to sift through what we’ve been given.”  She took a sip of the tea and smiled.  “We try to make use of as much as we can, but there were times we have to discard certain items, things that might be broken or pose a danger to the children.”  Melinda nodded her understanding.

 

“Skye was probably about fifteen months old, she’d just started walking but she chattered on and on in her own little jibber-jabber language.”  The nun laughed at the memory. 

 

“I wish I had known her then.”  Melinda mused, but actually thought, ‘I wish I had her then.’

 

“She was a difficult baby, but so endearing it was hard for me to feel about her as the others did.  Sr. Daniel felt she was incorrigible, even as a toddler.”  She shook her head.  “I tried to keep her with me as often as possible, just to keep her out of the other sisters’ way.”

 

For some reason that made Melinda very angry.  How could those women feel that way about _her_ baby!?

 

“She was toddling around, pulling things from boxes and generally making a mess, as she usually did, when she overturned one of them and out tumbled that rabbit.”  The nun chuckled.  “It was the most filthy thing I had ever seen, with one ear hanging on by a thread and half the stuffing pulled out, but the light it brought to that little girl’s face was priceless.  It was like she’d found something she’d lost and thought she’d never seen again.  I didn’t have the heart to take it from her, even though I knew she had probably dumped the trash carton.”

 

Melinda smiled, “sounds like something Skye would do.”

 

“She must have thought I _would_ take it from her because she put up such a fuss. I was afraid she would bring the wrath of the Mother Superior on both of us.  I bounced her on my lap with that silly bunny bobbing up and down with her.  I always sang to Skye when she was upset, so I sang the first song that came to me, Be Exalted.  I know, such a strange song to sing to a screaming toddler but it worked.  As for the rabbit, well I thought she’d eventually put it down and forget about it.  Needless to say, that didn’t happen.  Old Salty was dirty, mangy and in need of a lot of TLC, but so was Skye.  Maybe she saw that in the old bugger because she dragged it around all day.  The other kids wanted nothing to do with it.  You have to admit that Salty is not very appealing.  I think he might have been pink at one time, but was washed out. Either that or someone spilled something on him that left a pink patch on his derrière.  I thought I might get it from her when she napped but she had an iron grip on the old thing.  I had to wait all day and once she fell asleep for the night, I took it.  I sewed two big black buttons on for eyes, pulled them off an old overcoat in the trash box, stuffed him with what I could pull out of an old pillow then mended its ear and gave it a good washing.  I put it back in the crib with her and she was so surprised in the morning. She’s had it ever since.”

 

“How did she come up with the name?  Salty?”  Melinda pulled a ‘holy cow’ face then smiled at the mental picture of a baby Skye dragging that large rabbit all over the orphanage.   The word left a bad taste in Melinda’s mind.  Her baby had been in an orphanage and the images painted by Dickens and Harold Gray made that even worse.  St. Agnes was clean and bright, but it was still a foundling home. It was a place for children who had no one.  Until that little imp wrapped herself around May’s legs in that medical clinic, until she stole a piece of her heart, all she had was a ratty old stuffed rabbit and Sr. Mary Claire.  She smiled at the elderly woman and brushed a tear from her eye.

 

The nun smiled knowingly and patted Melinda’s hand, letting her know it was all right and that she understood.  “That came a bit later, after she’d been returned to us a few times.  She’d be so very sad and sit with her thumb in her mouth and her arm around that big bunny.  She wouldn’t talk or play, she’d just stare into space.  You would think because she was so young that it wouldn’t matter to her, but it did.  Skye always feels things so much deeper than we think.  I’d pick her and the bunny up and sit on the rocker in the common room.  We’d rock and I would talk myself silly, telling her stories and reassuring her that she was a good girl and that _we_ loved her.”  Sister shook her head and struggled to hide her shaky voice.  “I really should have told her that _I_ loved her, but that wouldn’t be a good idea.  It would make it so much harder when she would have to leave.”  She looked off into the living room for a few seconds and sipped her tea before continuing.

 

“On this particular day all of the windows were open in the room and we could hear the choir practicing in the church.  They were singing ‘Be Exalted’, one of my favorite hymns.  I started humming along and it calmed her.  She turned that bunny around and now he had only one eye.  She just sat it there on her lap and stared at it.  I started to sing along with the choir.  Little Skye hugged it so tightly, I was afraid she’d squeeze out its stuffing.”  She took another sip of tea and paused to think again.  “It was a few weeks later, she came back to us after a weekend visit with a possible family that didn’t work out very well.”  The nun shook her head and stared into her cup, debating on whether she should continue with this part of the story.  She looked into Melinda’s eyes and saw there the mother that her Skye had always needed, the mother she was meant to have.  Melinda Coulson was Skye’s mother now, just as much as if she had brought her into the world.  She deserved to know the things this little girl had survived, even those things better forgotten. 

 

“It’s unfortunate that some people do not have the patience or the compassion to take on troubled youngsters.  I like to tell myself that they think they do or that they really want to, but so many of our little ones have suffered because people just are not prepared for what they bring.  In this case, Skye was one of them.”

 

Melinda felt her hear shatter and wished Phil was there to hold it together.  What had happened to her sweet child?  Was this the source of her baby’s terror?  She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know but... she knew she needed to know.

 

Sister Mary Claire saw the change in Melinda.  She felt the fear and panic radiate off the new mother and wished she had not said anything about the Radcliffe family.  She tried to change the subject or rather get back to the tale of Salty the Bunny.  “Oh that Skye, she hugged that bunny and climbed into my lap.  She told me that ‘Salty’ was sad and when I asked who that was, she held up the bunny.  Then she asked me to sing.  I started singing a few little songs that she knew but she kept shaking her head and asking me to sing Salty, only she pronounced it ‘salteed’.  She kept saying ‘sing be salteed’ until my addled brain realized she wanted to hear ‘Be Exalted’.  I guess she just put the song and the rabbit together.  It became our routine whenever she was ‘returned’.”

 

Melinda wiped the tears from her eyes as the nun finished her story.  Her baby girl had only a used toy and an old hymn to comfort her.  She regressed to that a few weeks ago when they told her about the move.  It was everything she could do not to jump up and run to Skye’s room, scoop her up and hold her close to her own heart for the rest of the night.  Sr. M. Claire reached across the table and patted the back of Melinda’s hand as if she knew what she was thinking.

 

“I know, dear, I know.”  She smiled.  “But children are resilient, they withstand so much more than we give them credit for and you are giving her, oh bless the Lord you’ve already given her so much more.  She is so lucky to have found you.”  Melinda swallowed, unable to answer because she knew she’d lose the last bit of control she had.  The nun patted her hand again.

 

“You need to teach me that song, Sister.”  Melinda finally breathed as she smiled a weak smile.  Sr. M. Claire smiled back and nodded.

 

For a moment, the two women enjoyed their tea in silence.  Melinda broke that silence with the question that still hadn’t been answered.  “Do you think all of that has anything to do with her night terrors?  The doctor said it could be the result of some traumatic experience.”

 

The nun shook her head.  “Salty was always her comfort.  I can’t see it causing her any kind of trauma and she was just over a month old when she came to us.  That is much too young to have memories of anything.  Skye is definitely mixed race.  We know she is Asian.  There was a small Chinese population a few blocks from the church but no one ever came forward.  We couldn’t even say for sure if she came from there.  In the city there are so many possibilities.”

 

Melinda shook her head.  “You said something about a bad experience with a family.  You can tell me, sister.  I think we need to know because I just don’t think my baby going to get any relief until we find the source of her terrors.  We’ve assured her over and over that we will not ever leave her or send her away.  I tell her every night how much we love her and want her, so does Phil.”  She laughed as she continued, “we even tell that dopey rabbit and make it a point to say good bye to him before we leave the house and then tell it we’ll be back.”  The nun laughed as well.  “I know, I know it is so silly, but it helps her deal with being away from us during the day.”

 

Sister smiled, “how wonderful of you to do something like that.”

 

“I don’t let her watch scary movies or let the other kids tell her anything that might be scary and yet it keeps happening.  It’s been worse since we moved here.  She’s been up two and three times a night instead of one.  Thank goodness we only have to change her and the sheets once, the first time she wakes which is always the worst.”

 

“And she tells you nothing of these dreams?”

 

“She doesn’t seem to remember anything about it.  The next day she’s fine, same old Skye…into everything…getting into trouble…the usual.”  Melinda smirked.

 

“What about when she wakes?”

 

“That’s just it, she doesn’t really wake up completely.  Either she goes right back to sleep or tosses and turns, whining and whimpering until I can calm her.”  Melinda finished her tea and set the mug on the table.  She noticed the nun’s cup was empty.  “Would like more tea, sister?”

 

The nun looked at the cup almost surprised to see it was still in front of her.  “Oh, no dear, no thank you.  Look at the time.  I really should be going.”

 

“Are you driving all the way back to the city?”  Melinda looked at the clock, hoping to keep the woman until she could tell her what had happened in that home, but it was late and it was a long drive for an older woman, alone and at night.

 

“No, dear, no but thank you for being so concerned.  I’ve made arrangements to stay at St. Bartholomew’s.  It’s only a short distance from here and I have a cousin there I like to look in on from time to time.”  The nun rose from her seat and carried the teacup to the sink.  “I’ll just wash my cup before I take my leave.”

 

“You’ll do no such thing, sister.”  Melinda took the cup from her and placed it on the counter top.  “That’s why we have a dishwasher.” 

 

The nun stopped and turned to Melinda taking her hands in her own.  “I know you need answers, my dear.  I’m not sure it is what you are looking for and you must understand the confidentiality of the situation.”  Melinda closed her eyes and swallowed hard, then nodded.  She did understand personal privacy and the repercussions for breeching it.  She also knew lawyers who could cut through red tape and get her the information she needed and hoped it would never come to that.  “Let me make a few calls and seek some spiritual advice, then we can talk again.”  Sister smiled as she squeezed Melinda’s hand and walked to the door.

 

Melinda stood on the steps of her new home, listening to the soft music coming from the back yard and watching the small dark car as it disappeared around the corner at the end of the street.  She heard Phil before she felt his arm around her shoulders.  He held a glass in one hand and offered her a drink, which she wordlessly refused.   He took a small sip and raised the glass toward the red lights of the disappearing vehicle.

 

“Sister Mary off to the city?”  He inquired.

 

“No,” Melinda answered without looking at him.  “She’s off to St. Bartholomew’s on River Road, said she has a cousin in the area.”

 

“Hmmm,” he pondered as he took another sip.  “I didn’t know nuns had cousins.”

 

Melinda laughed quietly and backhanded him across the gut.  “They don’t just pop up fully grown in a habit, Phil.  They do have families.”

 

Phil coughed out most of his drink due to his laughter rather than her cuffing him.  “I suppose they do, but I bet not one of them has a family like this one.”  He laughed at her expression.  “Really, Mel, think about it,” he began as he steered her toward the path that lead to the back yard where their friends still sat sharing company.  “I was raised Jewish, although I have to say I am a very poor example.  You, my dear,” he kissed her cheek, “are somewhere between a devote Buddhist and a snarling agnostic.”  She laughed at his description of her parents and the path that she had never followed.  “Trip,” he continued, “our Trip is a soul singing Baptist, while Fitz and Jemma are certainly Episcopalian and well, Sr. Mary Claire is probably right now registering our baby for a full scholarship at the nearest parochial school.  Skye is a baptized Roman Catholic.  Can you imagine what we’ll do for Christmas or Easter?”  He laughed out loud.

 

Melinda took the glass from his hand and smelled its contents.  “How much have you had, Phillip?”

 

“Oh, Phillip is it now?”  He snorted.  They walked in silence for a few minutes, she steering him away from their friends and toward the tall hedgerow that bordered the property next door.  “Oooo, leading me off for a little midnight rendezvous.”  He laughed a silly laugh.

 

“It’s barely ten, Phil.”  She deadpanned as she shook her head.

 

“Okay,” he smirked, “ten-night rendezvous, then.”  He spun around and took her in his arms, coming nose to nose with his wife.

 

“She said something, Phil.”  Her tone changed.  It was full of…what?  Concern? Fear? Pain?

 

He lowered his head until it touched hers. “Who said what?”

 

“Something,” Melinda paused at the catch in her voice, she took a short breath and blew it out over her lips blinking back the tears she could no longer contain.  “Something happened to our baby in one of those damn homes they sent her to, Phil.  My god, Phil, what happened to her that she screams so much.  What terrorizes my sweet baby’s dreams?  What did they do to her?”

 

Before he could answer, she was sobbing in his arms.  He held her close, rocking a little, shushing her as he would Jemma or Skye.  Bobbi had stepped around the house, asking with a look if she could help.  He waved her away.  He let her cry, let her release what she must have been holding until the little nun had driven away.  When she seemed calmer, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.  She smiled through her tears at it and the gesture.  That was her Phil, always the gentleman.

 

Phil felt everything his wife felt and bit back the emotion that threatened to overtake him.  He struggled to push back the anger and need to punish whoever did whatever to his little girl.  He swallowed the bile that came with all of the terrors he imagined.  He watched as Melinda dabbed her eyes and nose with his hanky, then took it and shoved it into his back pocket.  “What did she say, Mel?”  His voice was just above a whisper.

 

“Not enough…not nearly enough, she just alluded to something that didn’t go well.”  She sounded angry now.  “Sister was telling me about Salty and well, I think it slipped.  I tried to get her to say more but she pulled the confidentiality clause and that was it.”  Melinda didn’t realize how anger she felt until now.

 

Phil took her hand and squeezed it.  “That’s not a problem, Mel.  We’re her parents, we deserve…hell, she deserves to know.  The doctor said all this screaming and nightmares could be from some trauma.  This is probably it.  We have lawyers, Mel, we…”

 

Melinda put a finger to his lips, shushing him softly.  His anger far outweighed hers.  The scarlet color of his cheeks was much more his fury than what he’d been drinking.  “Let’s not go there yet, Phil.  I think she wants to tell us, but is wrestling with herself over it.  We need to give her a couple days.  What if…oh my god, Phil, what if something happens and they take Skye away from us…I…I…”

 

Phil pulled her close, stopping the comment.  “That’s not going to happen, Mel.  Skye is not going anywhere.  We’ll wait…a few days and hope she comes around.”  He held her while broke down again, now staring into the eyes of not just Bobbi, but Yoyo as well.  He shook his head slightly as they started to approach.  “Hey,” he said a little louder than necessary so they could hear. “How about we go out back and sit with the guys and gals for a bit?”  He could feel her shaking his head against his chest.

 

“I’m going to check on my babies.  I didn’t kiss them goodnight enough.”  She spoke into his shirt, only he could hear and he nodded his understanding.

 

“I’ll be up,” he told her.  “I’ll ask Mack and Yoyo to close things for us.  I think they’re going to use the guest room tonight.”  Yoyo nodded, letting him know she had gotten his message.  “Hunter’s already three sheets to the wind,” he smiled as Bobbi rolled her eyes.  “I think they’ll be using the basement room.  Good thing we are all off tomorrow.”  He tossed his head slightly toward the backyard and the two women nodded before retreating to it.

 

Melinda backed up and looked into his eyes.  “Thank you,” she breathed before giving him a soft kiss.  She moved away from him, holding on to his hand until neither of their arms could reach any longer.  He watched her go back through the front door and quietly close it before returning to the group of friends who waited for an explanation in the backyard.

 

An hour later, he would find her curled around Skye on the little girl’s bed.  He threw a blanket over her and kissed them both before checking on the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Link to Sr. Mary Claire’s song – Be Exalted (cut and paste in browser)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHOX_UkDHqw


	29. Brick by Brick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family still struggles with past issues that come to haunt their children. 
> 
> WARNING - abuse and violence toward a child, racial slurs, bullying, trauma - if this offends or upsets you, please skip this chapter

 

 

The Coulson family was used to Skye’s shrieks after midnight, but Mack and Yoyo jumped from their bed as if in answer to a claxon call.  Yoyo’s eyes grew wide enough to frighten a girlish scream out of a yawning Fitz as he stepped into the hall and she ran toward the little girl’s room with her white robe flittering behind her.  The boy was sure he had witnessed a wraith and had no problem wrapping his skinny arms and legs around Phil who made it into the hallway a minute later.  The child trembled so viciously that Phil was afraid he’d be changing two children before tucking them back into bed on this night.  He gave up trying to help Melinda with their youngest and took the terrorized boy back to the master bedroom to comfort him and hopefully get him back to sleep before sunrise.

 

Melinda did not think it was possible for a large black man to look so pale as she carried her screaming baby down the hall and into the girl’s bathroom.  Yoyo followed with clean clothes for Skye and patted the big man’s shoulder as she walked past.  “No tengas miedo, Mack.  It is just a little girl with a big voice.”  She patted him again and followed Melinda into the bathroom.

 

Mack swallowed hard and suddenly realized he was standing in the middle of his friend’s hallway in nothing more than his shorts and a T-shirt.  He looked down at himself, then up and down the hall before making his way back to the guest room.  If Phil and Melinda did this every night, he had a whole new world of respect for both of them.

 

Phil had told their four friends about Sr. M. Claire’s almost reveal and how upset Melinda had been afterward.  Each agreed to keep quiet about the situation but also to look into it in the most covert methods they could muster.  In the meantime he would wait for the nun’s next step and keep his wife as calm as possible.

 

 

Morning brought a large crowd to the breakfast table.   Mack and Yoyo marveled at Skye’s exuberance despite last night’s, or early this morning’s, drama.  The little girl bounced on Mack’s lap enjoying a serving of French Toast while alternately offering bites to the large man.  Yoyo snuck a picture of him accepting the sticky offering.

 

Hunter moaned over Phil’s ‘morning after’ remedy, choking down gulps of the vulgar liquid and avoiding Bobbi’s glare.  Fitz sat between them glancing back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match.  He hadn’t touched his breakfast, which had Melinda worrying about his recent bout with Scarlet Fever.  She casually brushed by him, placing a hand on the back of his neck in a sneaky attempt to detect a fever.  As usual, in front of others, he pulled away and brushed her off quickly.  Melinda also noticed that since last night, Fitz had seemed overly interested in anything Bobbi and Hunter had to say.  She put it off as him just missing the familiarity of friends from the UK.

 

Trip had taken his plate into the family room, choosing to avoid the chatter and babble of the suddenly overcrowded kitchen.  Jemma enjoyed helping Melinda serve their guests.  The hustle and bustle of the morning far outweighed the party atmosphere of the day before.

 

“It still my birday?”  Skye quipped as she used one finger to draw squiggles in the syrup left on her plate.  Melinda caught her hand as she raised it to her mouth, but not before she placed the other on Mack’s clean T-shirt leaving a perfect outline of her palm.  She snatched the little girl off the man’s lap, handing him the washcloth she was about to use to clean Skye’s hands.

 

“I’m so sorry, Mack.”  She apologized as she plopped Skye on her hip that was farthest from the table.

 

The large man laughed as he brushed at the imprint.  “No worries.  I’ve had much worse.”

 

Melinda caught Skye’s wrist, holding it out and away from both of them.  “I’m going to get this one clean.”  She excused herself; heading for the downstairs powder room, explaining to the still inquisitive child that it was no longer her birthday.  Yoyo rose and began cleaning off the table, with Jemma’s help.

 

“It’s lovely that all of you have been able to stay and visit.  I can see how much Aunt Mel and Uncle Phil enjoy having you here.”  The little girl smiled as she scraped a plate and handed it to Yoyo for it to be rinsed.

 

“Hmmm, yes,” Yoyo narrowed her eyes at the girl.  “I do not see a plate here from you, chica.  Did I see you eat breakfast with the rest?  I do not think so.”  She sounded as if she were scolding.  Jemma lowered her gaze.  She really hoped no one had noticed.  It was still very hard to enjoy a meal like everyone else did.  The very intelligent child knew she needed to eat, but it always brought back the memory of that last day with her parents.  Yoyo placed a hand on Jemma’s shoulder and directed her back to the table.  “You sit here by Mack and I will get you a plate.  Tienes que comer, pequeña. Eres demasiado flaca.”

 

Jemma sat in the chair, looking defeated and unable to look at the dark skinned man smiling down at her.  Bobbi sat on her opposite side and reached under the table to take her hand and squeeze it in support.  “Maybe just some fruit, Elena,” she suggested, using Yoyo’s given name.  “I did see this little girl with cake _and_ ice cream yesterday.”

 

Phil placed a small plate in front of Jemma.  It held a small piece of toast and a few slices of orange.  “We keep our girl’s menu light.”  He grinned as he poured milk into a small glass and set it on the table then bent down to place a kiss on Jemma’s head.  Somehow, it wasn’t that bad when Uncle Phil was there to save the day.  The girl sat up, took her fork and began to pick at the food.  Phil, who still stood behind her, gently took the fork and cut a piece of the toast.   He poked the utensil into it and slipped it back into Jemma’s hand.  “You need to eat it, Jemma.”  He whispered and she nodded.

 

Jemma placed the small bite in her mouth and chewed before addressing Yoyo.  “I don’t know much Spanish,” she told her, “but I know you said something about eating.”

 

“I said you are too skinny, little one.”  Yoyo scolded again, then smiled.  “You need to eat.”  Jemma nodded and took another small bite.  The woman looked to Fitz who had remained silent during the exchange.  “And what about you, niñito?  You eat like the pequeño lobo and today you just sit and watch your food grow cold?”

 

Fitz looked down at his plate as if he just realized it was there then up at Phil standing behind Jemma’s chair.  He looked at Bobbi and at Hunter who had dropped his head onto his arms folded on the table in front of him. 

 

“Something wrong, little man,” Phil smiled at him.  Fitz glanced quickly again at the adults surrounding him and shook his head.  He picked up his fork and began shoveling food into his mouth.  Phil shook his head and hoped, no prayed, another of their brood had not developed a new issue.

 

It took most of the day to clean up after the party and there were enough left overs to feed a house full of company and a teenaged eating machine.  Skye managed to take three more spills off her new bike earning band-aids on both knees, chin and both elbows.  Phil was sure the little girl would put the new vehicle aside after the last fall, but she persisted, pushing on the pedals until she was able to go the length of the driveway and back without tipping or losing her balance.

 

By the time the company said goodbye, the yard, garage and patio where back to normal.  Fitz sat on the front porch steps and watched as Phil bid farewell to Bobbi and Hunter.  Hunter looked over Phil’s shoulder and waved to the boy before slipping into the rented SUV.  The fact that both he and Bobbi continued to cast concerned glances his way was unnerving.  He kicked at the small pebbles on the sidewalk sending them scattering in all directions.  He considered picking up some of the larger stones and wiring them across the large front yard, sure he could hit that SUV before it reached the end of the street.  He also knew, for a fact, that he could not run fast enough or hide long enough to avoid his mother’s wrath if he did so.

 

Phil walked back from the curb watching as Fitz tried to hide his anger.  He hadn’t seen the little boy like this since the day he’d caught him with his wallet.  It seemed like a lifetime ago.  “Hey,” he remarked as he sat down next his small son.  “What’s up?”

 

Fitz leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands.  He rocked left and right, turning up one side of his mouth.  “Nothin,” he answered through his teeth.

 

“You know,” Phil started, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders.  “You can come to me with anything, Fitz.  I won’t let you down, son.”

 

Fitz pulled away and stood facing Phil.  “I’m not really your son.”  He stated calmly.  “I’m just a kid you found on the street.  You don’t have to care for me.”

 

Phil swallowed the shock of the boy’s reaction before responding.  “I guess you’re right, Fitz.” He did not miss the boy’s shoulders fall with that statement.  “I don’t have to care, but I do and in a few months you will _really_ be my, our son, legally anyway.”  The man looked down at his hands that now hung between his knees.  “But that’s just paperwork, Fitz.  As far as Melinda and I are concerned you _are_ our son.”

 

Fitz looked down at the toes of his shoes and kicked at the gravel on the walk.  He shoved his hands in his pockets and let out a long breath then sniffed and looked to the right, clearly avoiding Phil’s gaze.  “You’ll not let anyone take me, then, will you?” 

 

Again, Phil felt the shock of the boy’s question, wondering where this was coming from and why now.  He reached out and took Fitz by the upper arms, gently pulling him closer.  “Fitz, no one is going to take you.  I thought you knew that.”  The boy shrugged his shoulders.  “You don’t have to worry about that, not now or ever.”  The boy took a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

 

“I…I know why Hunter and Bobbi came here.”  He explained softly.  “I’m sorry…I know I shouldna been listening.  I didna mean to hear.”

 

Phil shook his head unable to figure out what the boy meant.  “Hear what, Fitz?”

 

“I heard them talking…talking about him…about Jamie Grant.”  Fitz was close to tears.

 

Phil knew.  He thought the kids had gone to bed.  He thought it was safe to discuss his London team’s reason for showing up unannounced.  Jamie Grant had been granted bail until his trial began and had slipped away.  He’d been on the run for the past two months.  Hunter had been tracking sightings and feared the man had made his way to the States.  If that was true, Fitz _was_ in danger.

“Fitz, listen to me,” Phil still held the little boy by the arms and gave him a gentle shake.  “There is no way Grant can find you here, Fitz.  He doesn’t have anyway to do that.  We will not let anything happen to you, Fitz.  Not ever.”  The boy finally looked Phil in the eye and gave a small nod.  Phil knew the kid did not believe him.  “Okay, let’s get inside before your mom comes looking for us.”  He stood and reached out a hand that Fitz took before they walked up the stairs toward the front door.

 

The scream that woke the family a little after midnight, did not come from a terrified preschooler but rather a traumatized little boy who had been fighting night-demons by himself far too long.

 

 

 

In two weeks, Melinda was more than exhausted, between Skye’s night terrors and Fitz’ nightmares she found herself running on less than four hours of sleep per night.  Phil tried to help but neither child would accept comfort from no one but mom.  He did his best to let his wife sleep in the morning while he rousted all four kids, gave them breakfast and got them off to school.   He tried telling Melinda to go to bed earlier than the crew, since she’d be up throughout the night.  He had no problem checking homework, supervising TV and video games and getting the older kids tubbed and scrubbed, but wrestling Skye into the tub then out of the tub and into PJ’s, let alone having her stay in bed once he got her there, was a lost cause.  Melinda gave up trying to sleep. It just wasn’t possible.

 

“Mel, this has to stop,” Phil whispered to her as he pulled her head to rest against his shoulder.  “You can’t keep going on so little sleep. It isn’t healthy.”  He kissed her forehead as she patted his bare chest.

 

“Let’s just take advantage of the quiet, right now.”  Melinda yawned as she snuggled into him.  It was just ten p.m. and they were already in bed.  With any luck they could get at least two hours sleep before Fitz had them wide-awake.  Skye was gracious enough to keep the three o’clock shift.

 

“I’m calling that nun, tomorrow, Mel.  We’ve waited long enough.  If she’s not going to give us something, I’ll get our lawyers on it by Thursday.”  Phil was adamant.  “Grant is a whole other issue.  There’s been no sightings, no reports…maybe he just took off and no one will ever hear from him again.”

 

“Mmm hmm,” Melinda answered.  He looked down at her and realized she was very close to sleep.  He smiled and kissed her again before closing his eyes.

 

 

Trip bounded into the house a few days later, followed by a new friend and fellow basketball enthusiast.  Being teenage boys their first stop was the refrigerator and most of the kitchen cupboards foraging for any easy fix snack items to fill the void left in their bellies since lunch. 

 

“Nice place ya got here, Triplett.”  The taller pale kid commented, slapping a slice of cheese on a top of the deli meat he had in his hand.  He rolled it into a long strip and devoured it in two bites.  “Ya got the whole place to yerself, huh.”

 

Trip pulled the top from a bottle of cola and took a long drink before answering.  “Mrs. C should be home in about an hour,” he glanced at the clock.  “She picks up Skye first and the kids get off the bus about twenty minutes after that.”  He handed the other boy a bottle and shrugged his shoulders.  “Not sure when Mr. C will get in, he’s got weird hours.”

 

The boy looked at the bottle in his hand and gave a sly smirk.  “This the best ya can do?”

 

Trip opened the refrigerator.  “We don’t usually have soda.  It’s left from Skye’s party.  There might be something clear in the basement.”  He pushed some items around in his search.  “There’s ice tea…but the rest is mostly juice…”

 

“Dude, you gonna tell me in a place like this you don’t have a bar…you know with some _good_ stuff.”  The kid set the bottle of cola on the counter and glared at Trip.

 

Trip stared for a moment, caught between the seriousness and the silliness of the situation.  He chose silly and laughed out loud.  The other boy laughed as well.  “Man, you had me there for a minute.”

 

“Yeah,” the boy sneered.

 

“Yeah,” Trip repeated, “let’s get this mess cleaned up and I’ll show you the basketball court out back.”

 

Both boys moved, quickly dispensing of the clutter they’d created, grabbed the basketball they’d carried in and disappeared out the back door and behind the garage.

 

 

“I ride my bike!”  Skye was in the front door and halfway to the back before Melinda was able to step inside and close it.

 

“Skye, stop right there.”  She ordered with quiet authority. 

 

The little girl stopped moving forward but continued bouncing from foot to foot and pointing toward the exit.  “I gonna ride my bike, Mama.”  She turned and took a step forward.

 

“Skye…” Melinda warned as she dropped her car keys into a small dish on the table in the large foyer, “not one more step, little girl.” 

 

Skye dropped to the floor, folded her legs and crossed her arms over her chest.  “I mad to you , Mama.”

 

Melinda stepped over the sullen child, opened the closet door, dropped her purse and kicked off her shoes.  “You’ll get over it.”  She reached down and tousled the little girl’s hair.  Skye stuck out her bottom lip in a fine pout and spun herself around so her back was to her mother.  Melinda watched and laughed under her breath at the stubborn little imp. 

 

It was easy to see that Trip had already raided the refrigerator and had done a more than fair job at cleaning up after himself.  She pulled a bottle of white grape juice out and took a small plastic cup from the cupboard.  “Yum, Daddy remembered to buy these little cheesy fish crackers.  They’re my favorite, ooo, especially these little smiley ones.”  She popped a few in her mouth and exaggerated chewing them.  Skye let out a loud breath and kicked her feet out in front of her, refusing to turn and look.

 

Melinda poured juice into the cup.  “Oh, and look at this he got Skye’s favorite juice, grape that doesn’t make you purple.  It’s too bad she’s being so very naughty because after she changes her clothes she might like to ride her bike.”  The mother had been keen to ignore the little girl who had been sitting on the hallway floor but knew she had stood up and quietly slipped into the kitchen. 

 

Skye climbed up into her special seat and took a sip of the juice.  She lined the ten fish crackers up across the napkin set for her then popped the last one into her mouth.  Melinda turned from the sink and feigned a surprised look.  “Skye! I did not see you there.”

 

The little girl giggled.  “You funny, mama.  I heero.”  She crunched another cracker and took another sip of her juice.  “I ride my bike?”

 

Melinda leaned across the table and rested her head on her hands.  “We change your clothes first.”  She stole a cracker from the line Skye had created and crunched it in her teeth.  Skye laughed again and pushed the napkin toward her mother. 

 

“I done, mama.  I have fishtails at schoowell.”  She rubbed her tummy and squinted at Melinda.  “My belly gotz lotsa them.”  The little girl slid off the chair, hopped around the table and grabbed her mother’s hand.  “Mon, I needa change.”  She pulled Melinda toward the hall that lead to the stairs.

 

 

The large concrete patio just outside the kitchen was perfect.  Melinda could prepare dinner for the family and watch Skye ride her bike at the same time.  Phil and Trip had put up a small fence that separated the patio from the driveway and Skye was told repeatedly that she was not to go past it, either on foot or on bike.  So far, she’d followed that order.  It hadn’t taken long to add toys to the patio either.  Melinda watched as Skye sat at the small plastic picnic table pouring water from a toy teapot into little plastic cups.  Pouring seemed to be the best part of the play because she also poured the water on the tabletop, the concrete and her bike. 

 

Pouring water and peddling a bike is great fun but listening to the rhythm of a bouncing ball and the mumble of Trip talking to someone had peaked Skye’s curiosity.  She peddled her bike to the far end of the patio, dismounted and hung her helmet on the handlebars like she’d seen Fitz and Jemma do.  She walked the length of the garage listening as the sound got louder, some of the words she heard she knew Daddy would not like and remembered when she used one with Sr. Daniel.  She was going to tell Trip what happens when you use that bad word.

 

“Man,” Trip laughed as he caught the rebound and turned to face his friend.  “You gotta show me how you do that!”  He tossed the ball to the other boy, who stood mid-court, bounced it twice and easily threw it through the basket with a gentle leap.  Trip shook his head in wonder and hurried to snatch the ball again.

 

“Practice, homey, practice,” the slender boy replied with a sneer.  Trip stepped next to him and attempted to imitate his stance, adjusting and readjusting his pose before bouncing the ball and giving it a toss.  It bounced off the backboard, hit the rim and fell to the ground.  Trip shook his head as the other boy snorted out an expletive and called Trip a few names that could not be repeated in polite company.

 

“Hey, man,” Trip scowled.  “Not here, cool it with the language, dude.  My m…Mrs. C takes it pretty serious, besides the little guy’s heard enough of it and it’s taken forever to break the habit.”

 

“Damn straight,” the taller boy laughed again.  “Little Guy needs to have some power.  She doesn’t like it, too damn bad.”

 

Trip shook his head.  At least his new friend had toned it down a bit.   All he needed was Fitz repeating some of this guy’s vulgarity and there’d really be hell to pay.  He might just have to live in the garage.  “Yeah, well just watch it here, man.”  He passed the ball to the kid and excused himself saying he had to take care of some personal needs and would be right back.  The kid nodded and flipped the ball over his shoulder.  It sailed across the half-court and through the basket with practiced ease.  Trip shook his head as he slipped around the far side of the garage.

 

 

Skye stepped around the corner of the garage as Trip disappeared around the opposite side.  She stood at the edge of the macadam court watching the tall, skinny boy bounce the ball and throw it through the basket.  She’d seen Trip do it many times.  She liked the funny sound the ball made as it bounced, but she didn’t recognize this boy.  It wasn’t Trip.  Where was Trip? 

 

The boy threw the ball over and over, getting it into the basket every time.  Sometimes Trip missed, but Daddy told him to keep trying.  The boy jumped high and slammed the ball into the hoop, then caught the rim of it and hung there for a moment before he let himself fall to his feet.  He raised his fists over his head and pranced around in a circle making a funny raspy sound in his throat that made it sound like a lot of people were yelling.  The brown bumpy ball rolled across the ground and stopped at Skye’s feet.  She watched it bump against her toe.

 

“Well, lookie, lookie what the cat dragged outta the trash…” a sarcastic voice sneered.  Skye looked at the tips of the black sneakers that stepped close to the large ball.  She swallowed and stepped back.  “Where ya goin’ ya little spit?”  The voice demanded as a hand grabbed her arm and squeezed tightly.  Skye gasped with the quick pain and looked up into the pale blue eyes of the young boy who held her arm.

 

He shook her a little and laughed, “I don’t believe it!”  He slapped his leg with his other hand, then used it to push his stringy black hair from his face.  “Little China Bitch!  I didn’t think I’d ever see your ugly little face again.”  He pulled her onto the blacktop and looked in all directions.  “Where’d you come from anyway?”  He almost whispered.

 

Skye recognized the laugh, the voice, the eyes of the monster that held her.  Tears streamed across her cheeks as her small bottom lip quivered.  She wanted to scream, to call Mama…to call anyone to make him go away.  He was bad.  He would hurt her…again.  He wouldn’t let her go…not this time.

 

The boy grabbed her other arm and squeezed it just as tightly.  He lifted her up to his eye level and mocked her, making the same terrified expression.  He stuck out his bottom lip, “gonna cry again, little chink…awww, boo hoo….” He made his voice high and pretended to cry, making fun of the little girl at his mercy.  Pulling her so close to him that he spat on her as he spoke, he shook her hard causing her small head to snap back and then come forward.  He purposefully struck her with his own head causing the little girl to cry out.  “You made a lot of trouble for me, you little bastard.”  He growled through his teeth and shook her again.

 

Skye made soft whiny noises and wiggled her feet as they dangled above the ground.  She wanted to get away from this boy.  Last time she bit his arm, bit him until he started to bleed.  The parents said she was bad.  They said she had to go away.  They said she hurt him.  They didn’t know that he hurt her lots of times.  They didn’t know he was bad.  They said she hurt the other boy, too, but it was him.  He was a bad boy.  She kicked harder.

 

The boy pushed his arms away from his body, holding her far enough away from him that she could not hit him.  He laughed again, squeezed her arms so tight that she cried out loud and shook her twice before releasing her. 

 

Skye fell to the ground scraping her palms and knees on the blacktop.  She struggled to stand but he pushed her down with the toe of his foot. 

 

He rolled up his sleeve and pushed his arm toward her.  She pulled back and raised her arm to protect herself.  “Got your disgusting teeth marks on my arm for good, ya little foreign bitch! Had to have a tetanus shot,” he kicked the bottom of her sneaker as she scooted backward away from him.  “I hate shots.”  He still held the arm out, pointing at the raised red mark just above his wrist.  “Gonna need some plastic surgery here, bitch.”  He pushed her down as she tried to rise again.  “Ya know what that means?”  Skye just stared.  “Do you?”  He screamed at her.  “Whadya deaf now, chink?  Do you know what that means?”  He kicked her leg.  She pulled it close to her chest and covered the spot with her hand, shaking her head.  He yelled as he bent down toward her.  “And ya know what that means?”  She shook her head quickly.  “It_means_more_shots!”  He stomped at her with each word.  She pulled herself back with each, until she backed into the side of the garage.

 

The boy turned and picked up the ball.  He bounced it slowly and smiled at her.  He smiled a very scary smile. She drew a quick breath and let out a series of uncontrollable sobs.  Skye was used to crying quietly, secret crying she thought of it.  Crying so no one would hear, crying so no would know and send her away or find her or know that she didn’t like what was happening.  She tried to secret cry now, so maybe he would just go away, just leave her alone, but she couldn’t.  She was too scared and he was not going away.  He was coming closer.  He wanted to hurt her, wanted her to cry.  He was bad.

 

“Maybe…no, not maybe…no, I think I owe you, chinky girl.  You gave me a scar.”  He traced it with one finger while he held the basketball under his arm.  “My teeth are a lot bigger than yours.”  He grinned, showing them.  “I bet I could just snap off one of those scrawny little worthless fingers.”  He laughed as Skye quickly shoved her hands behind her back and pushed herself up against the garage. 

 

Her eyes darted from side to side.  She knew she couldn’t run as fast as he could but she could get around the corner.  She took a step in that direction and pulled back quickly as the basketball struck the wall a few inches in front of her.  She retreated in the opposite direction only to be stopped again by the ball bouncing off the wall.  Skye’s little hands covered her face.  She stopped and pressed herself against the side of the wall as the boy continued to bounce the ball off the garage, alternating either side of the child.

 

“You’ve got a beany little head, Mary Sue and this is a very hard ball.  I bet it could smash your little slanty eyed skull like a rotten melon.”  He bounced the ball in front of him a few times.  “Wanna find out?”  He slammed the ball against the garage just above her head.

 

Skye slid back to the ground, letting out a scream that rivaled those she bellowed on any night.  The boy threw his head back and laughed even louder as he continued bouncing the ball ever closer to her.

 

Trip charged around the side of the garage, eyes wide with his own terror.  He had no idea Skye was home and had never heard her scream like that.  The sight before him took only seconds to register.  “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”  He demanded, stopping dead.

 

The other boy caught the ball as it came back to him.  He looked at Trip and smiled wide.  “Look at the little commie.  Just teaching the little bitch a lesson.”  He spiked the ball again.

 

Trip moved faster than even he thought was possible, knocking the ball off course and out of the other boy’s reach.  Before the taller boy could react, Trip was on him, knocking him to the ground and pummeling him.  He’d never been as angry as he was right now, never knew he could hate anyone so much in a single second. 

 

 

Melinda dropped the bowl she held when Skye’s scream pierced the quiet of the late afternoon.  Running to the patio, she looked once at the girl’s small bike against the wall and ran to the gate that bordered the driveway.  She looked in both directions intending to head for the street, but was stopped by a second claxon call from her youngest child.  Melinda turned on her heels and ran for the basketball court behind the garage.  She grabbed the siding of the building to steady herself as she made the corner.  It took only a few seconds for her to take in the sight before her.

 

Skye was pulled into a tight ball against the backside of the building.  Her hands covered her face but her screaming was not muffled by any means.  Blood ran down the side of her leg that was visible and seemed to be either on her face or hand as well. 

 

Trip was struggling on the ground with another young boy.  They were fighting, throwing punches, the language was almost unintelligible.  The taller boy rolled away and stood, throwing up his fists as Trip quickly pulled himself up to face him.   The boy swiped the blood from under his nose and tossed his head back spurring Trip to come on.  Trip threw up his own fists and swiped at the boy, who dodged away. 

 

“TRIP!”  Melinda commanded as she moved around the boys to get to Skye.  “Trip!  Stop it!”

 

Trip looked at Melinda once, relieved that she would take Skye away from this, then turned back to the other boy and landed a punch to his midsection.  The other boy doubled over giving Trip the opportunity to land a second shot to his chin effectively knocking him to the ground.  The boy held his stomach and groaned as he rolled to his back and let out a loud breath.  Trip looked at him, then at Melinda and then back to the kid groaning on the ground.  He relaxed his fists, dropping his arms to his sides.

Trip knew there would be hell to pay.  He knew Phil would not be happy, no he would be pissed and he’d only seen him that angry once.  This time Phil would be angry with him, but it was worth it.  What the hell was wrong with this guy, attacking a little kid?  Trip had brought Harris Radcliffe to their home.  He had put Skye in danger.  Whatever the punishment he deserved it and if he had to do it again he would not just sock that jerk’s face he’d make sure his nose was broken.  In fact, he hoped it was.  His grandmother would be pretty angry, too, but he’d take it.  He’d take it for that little girl who cowered against the garage.  Trip didn’t realize until that moment that he was crying.  He rubbed his hand across his cheeks then pulled up the hem of his T-shirt and wiped the sweat and tears away.    He turned to see Melinda on her knees quietly talking to Skye, gently rubbing her hand on the little girl’s back. 

 

He dreaded the dressing down he’d receive from Phil but never wished so much that the man would step around the corner and take charge.  That wasn’t to be, for now he was in charge.  He took a deep breath and ran to Melinda who had pulled a distraught Skye into her arms, rocking gentling and whispering soft words of comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, but it's late and there are already over 5,000 words in this one. I have an all day First Communion Retreat tomorrow with my 15 second graders. But I promise to continue as soon as possible. If my fingers could go as fast as my mind....well, that would be great.
> 
> On the other hand, if you're tired of this....


	30. Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the aftermath of violence
> 
> same warnings as last chapter, proceed with caution

Chaos

 

Phil didn’t realize he’d run the light or gone through not one but two stop signs.  He didn’t hear the sirens until the police cruiser pulled in front of him, forcing him to the side of the road.  He attempted to reverse and pull around it but found a second cruiser against his back bumper.  Two officers approached his car, weapons drawn.  They were shouting, telling him to keep his hands where they could see them, to drop his keys out of the window.  He tried to explain, screamed over and over that he had to get to his wife and his children, but they dragged him from the vehicle and pushed him against it, patting him down, confiscating his own weapon and demanding identification. 

 

One officer kept his pistol trained on the man who seemed mentally disturbed while the second pulled the wallet from his back pocket.  Phil could hear him using his radio and asking for verification, for any wants or warrants on his name.

 

“Please,” he turned his head from his position across the hood of his car and addressed the young woman training her weapon on him.  “Please,” he repeated, “my wife…my children…I have to get home.”

 

In all honesty, Phil had no idea what had happened, no idea why he needed to get home as quickly as possible.  Trip’s call was cryptic, short and terrifying.  The boy’s voice was hollow, empty and almost robotic.  He’d called him, ‘dad’.  Never, ever had Antoine Triplett call Phil Coulson ‘dad’, never…Phil never expected it, not that he wouldn’t be honored, but he just never thought it would happen.  The boy’s monotone pleading played over and over in his head.

 

“We need you, Dad, we need you.  Come home…Skye…Dad please come home.” 

 

Trip either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer any questions.  He could hear Melinda’s strained voice…Skye screaming in the background.  Then another voice, a voice he didn’t recognize, yelling, spouting obscenities…and phone went dead.  He’d dropped everything. Nothing mattered, nothing except getting home…home to Trip…to Skye…to Melinda…

 

Phil had been in Glen Talbot’s office.  Once again the general had been dissatisfied with the service Coulson’s team had provided for a visiting dignitary and Phil was sick of it.  The man was never happy with anything they did.  Phil was done trying to please this screwball and intended to tell him so.  They argued, loudly and he’d ignored Trip’s first two calls, thinking it was another ‘please bring home something or other’…thinking it was asking permission to stay out later or looking for some tool young Fitz had mislaid…  He kicked himself mentally for ignoring them.  He’d left Talbot mid-sentence, running from his office and almost knocking two secretaries to the floor as he exited.

 

Phil pulled at the cuffs on his wrists and pushed himself to a standing position.  The young officer shook a bit.  He could see the beads of sweat on her forehead…a rookie, probably first time she’d drawn her weapon.

 

“Look,” Phil spoke quietly, standing still.  “Something is wrong, my family is…I really…I’m sorry, I just need to get home.”

 

The older officer returned, grabbed Phil’s elbow and escorted him to the cruiser.  He pulled open the rear door and put his hand on the top of Phil’s head as he helped him inside and closed the door.  The younger officer holstered her gun and slid into the passenger seat.  The other started the car and pulled into traffic, siren blaring.  The second car, where the officers had remained during the altercation, pulled in front of them, lights and sirens forcing all traffic to a stand still as they sped away.

 

 

Phil sat back against the seat and forced his breathing to regulate.  He stopped trying to convince these officers that he was desperate. His pleas had been useless.  They were taking him away from his family. It would take hours to straighten out this mess.

 

The car came to an abrupt stop, forcing Phil forward in the seat.  He’d speak to someone about the lack of a seatbelt…after he spoke to his lawyer…after he straightened out this mess…after he got to Melinda…oh, the hell with it.  He didn’t care about a seatbelt.  He considered kicking whoever opened the door in the teeth and making a run for it.  His panic had turned to fury and he intended to set it on the first person to cross his path.

 

The young female officer opened the door and stepped aside motioning for him to exit. 

 

Phil stood blinking in the bright sunlight, expecting to see a station house and instead looking at his own front yard.  His anger dissolved into the scene before him.

 

Three other cruisers in addition to the two that brought him were parked at odd angles at the curb, the lights still revolved in one flashing red and blue alternately.  An ambulance was backed into the driveway, its back doors wide open.  A second ambulance was at the curb.  Two EMT’s hovered over someone strapped to the stretcher.  He could only see the large sneakers of whoever was being treated.  He did not recognize the shoes and wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or incensed. 

 

He watched Mack arguing with two uniforms that each held one of Trip’s arms.  The boy appeared to be in handcuffs and was shaking his head, tears streaming down his face.  Mack had his hand on one of the officer’s chest, pushing him back or holding him in place.  He could heart the large man yelling but could not make out the words.  Trip wore a white T-shirt and Phil was sure the splatter on it was blood.

 

The squeal of a car skidding to a stop took his attention from the scene.  He turned to see Bobbie and Hunter sprint from a vehicle before it had come to a complete stop.  Hunter was at Mack’s side in four long strides.  Bobbie raced toward the ambulance in the driveway.

 

A man he did not recognize was yelling as well.  He demanded Trip be taken away, called him things that made Phil glad he was handcuffed because if he wasn’t that man would be swallowing most of his teeth.  He scanned the scene looking for the rest of his family finding Yoyo at the farthest end of the yard with her arms around Fitz and Jemma who also appeared to be crying.  They noticed him at the same time and Fitz broke free racing across the yard, dodging everyone in his path to get to the man he knew would end all of this chaos.

 

“Da!” Fitz breathed, wrapping his arms around Phil as he crashed into him.  Phil felt the cuffs fall away from his hands and quickly reached out taking the small boy into his arms.  A second small body slammed into his side.  He opened up one arm and took Jemma into the group embrace, holding both children and feeling them tremble in his arms.  Yoyo followed close behind, stopping in front of him while he comforted the children who needed his attention much more.

 

He pulled them close and looked to the woman.  “Melinda?  Skye?”  It was enough.  She knew what he was asking and tossed her head toward the closer ambulance.  He cast her a glance asking what happened and she shook her head looking at the small children wrapped around his midsection.

 

Phil knelt down, eye level with the ‘twins’.  “Hey,” he spoke softly, smiling at them.  “I need you two to stay with Yoyo for a little while.”  Jemma shook her head, inhaled a loud sob and wrapped her arms around his neck.  Fitz tried to be brave, but his lip quivered for a second before he too was wrapped around his father and sister.  Phil wavered a bit, catching his balance.  He rubbed their backs and shushed them, kissing both on the cheeks and whispering that he knew they were frightened but that Yoyo would keep them safe, just for a bit.  The children stood back but each kept one hand on their father’s shoulders, locking the fingers of their free hands to each other.

 

“I need to talk to Mom.”  He tried to smile as he raised his hands to his shoulders and covered theirs, squeezing them softly.  “I’ll send Bobbi over so you can stay with both of them.  You’ll be okay.  We all will.”

 

“They’re going to take, Trip, Da.  Don’t let them take, Trip!”  Fitz spoke through his tears, almost hysterical.  “Please, Da…”  His small hand clenched the fabric of Phil’s jacket.

 

“Mama was bleeding.” Jemma sobbed, using Skye’s term for the woman she had always called ‘Aunt Mel’.  “I couldn’t see why.  They won’t tell us anything.”  She dissolved into tears.

 

Yoyo stepped closer wrapping her arms around the children’s shoulders but unable to take them from their father.  “Your mama is going to be okay, lo promento.  Ven pequeños, your papa needs to make things right.  Ven conmigo, you will be okay.”  She spoke softly, leaning down to whisper in their ears.

 

Phil smiled at the children, placing his hands against the sides of their heads and drawing them close, kissing both on the forehead and holding them there a bit longer.  Yoyo pulled them close to her as Phil stood and stepped back. 

 

“I promise,” he reassured them both.  “I will be back as soon as I talk to Mom.”  Yoyo nodded. 

 

Phil glanced to Mack and Hunter who still argued with the officers and now with the irate man he did not recognize.  An unfamiliar woman had also joined the fracas but appeared to be crying more than arguing.  He headed toward the ambulance passing an officer who carried a bloody knife inside a clear evidence bag.  His heart beat faster as he hurried toward the vehicle.

Bobbie stepped aside as Phil came around the door.  Melinda stood from where she had been sitting on the edge of the vehicle.  Her right arm was bandaged from her elbow to her thumb.  He could see where the blood was beginning to seep through.  They moved to each other slowly, carefully but embraced with a powerful hug, comforting and assuring each other that they would survive whatever this horrendous scenario brought.

 

He looked over his wife’s shoulder.  His heart broke as he saw the tiny girl on the gurney inside the ambulance.  A young EMT sat beside her, monitoring a blip on the screen next to it.  Skye appeared to be asleep although her small body twitched slightly every few seconds.  A small oxygen mask covered her face and an IV tube lead from her arm to a bag of clear liquid hanging above her.  Wires attached the small pads on her exposed chest to the blipping machine that monitored her heart rate. Phil could see the dark bruise on her forehead and dried blood on her legs.  Both of the little girl’s hands were bandaged.  A dark plastic splint held her left arm stationary.

 

“They sedated her, Phil.  She was hysterical.  We couldn’t calm her down.”  Melinda tried to explain before she raised her hand to her mouth and did everything she could to keep her own calm.  “Her arm may be broken, they aren’t sure.”  She broke into silent tears.

 

“What…” Phil also took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.  “What happened?  Why are they arresting Trip?”  He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut.  He couldn’t believe he what he was about to say.  “Did…did Trip…did he…”

 

Melinda shook her head, eyes wide as she placed her hands on her husband’s chest.  “Oh god, Phil, no, no…if it wasn’t for Trip…oh my god, this could have been so much worse.”  She dropped her head on his chest.  He wrapped his arms around her and let out a long slow breath.

“Tell me…”

 

Melinda spent the next few minutes telling her husband the events that lead up to the circus playing out on their lawn.  She knew Trip was home but had no idea he had brought a friend, a term she used with a sneer.   She recalled her baby’s screams and her race to the basketball court finding Trip on top of another boy and Skye bleeding on the ground.  Neither of them saw the kid drawn a knife.  They didn’t know where he had it or how he got it, but he advanced on the three of them, spouting some of the worst, sickening slurs she had heard since she was a very small child.  He reeked with hate and for some reason directed all of it toward the baby both she and Trip stood to protect.

 

Melinda had pushed Trip behind her, ordering him to stay with Skye, to get her out of there, to call for help.  She faced the crazed young boy who waved the knife from side to side.  He fired names at Melinda that infuriated her, made her remember crying in her father’s arms because kids in the playground refused to play with her or laughed at her because she was different.  She did everything she could to hold on to that anger and talk this crazed young man out of whatever he intended. 

 

Trip tried to scoop his little sister from the ground but Skye shrieked in terror, kicking and swinging at him with such force that he fell back.  He tried again, cooing softly to her and begging her to let him take her away from this, but she would have none of it. 

 

Harris laughed maniacally at the child’s plight, threatening to do things to her that Melinda would not repeat to Phil and hoped that with all of the screaming, Trip had not heard either.  She kept her body between the boy with the knife and her children.  He yelled something she didn’t understand and lunged forward.  The knife sliced into her forearm.  She swung a roundhouse kick surprising the kid and knocking the knife from his grip.  A second kick knocked the kid unconscious and Melinda fell to the ground dizzy with pain and holding on to her own consciousness for her children’s sake.

 

Phil held her, listening to the story, holding his temper and need to seek revenge on the kid that brought this on his family.  A kid, dear god, a kid…how could a kid apparently a kid Trip’s age attempt to harm his wife and his daughter? What could drive someone that young to harbor so much hate that he would torture a little girl…stab a woman.  He almost laughed.  Certainly, Harris Radcliffe had chosen the wrong woman.  Melinda May was not a woman to threaten and when faced with someone threatening her children…well, nothing is more powerful than a mother protecting her own.  Phil had seen her protect their clients.  He’d seen her use her training to take down threats.  He could image the force that Harris Radcliffe had met on that basketball court and again he almost smiled.

 

One of the EMT’s placed a hand on his shoulder.  “We need to get going, sir.  Your wife is going to need further treatment and they’re waiting to assess your daughter.”

 

Phil stepped back realizing the seriousness of the incident once more.  He looked at Melinda and Skye then back across the lawn to Yoyo still standing with the ‘twins’ and Mack struggling to keep the officers from dragging Trip into a patrol car.  Melinda followed his gaze and placed a hand on his arm. 

 

“Go,” she sighed, “be with Trip.  He needs you.  I’ll be okay...we’ll be okay.  I’ll stay with Skye, she’s not badly hurt, Phil, just scared.”

 

He nodded and kissed her twice before the EMT helped her step up into the ambulance.  The man then stepped up himself and pulled the doors closed.  Phil watched as the vehicle pulled slowly out of the driveway and started down the street.  The siren screamed a few feet before it reached the stop sign.  He noticed only then the number of people who stood on porches and lawns watching the exploits of the new neighbors.

 

 

Trip watched as Phil walked across the lawn.  He trembled as their eyes locked.  Relief washed over him as fear threatened to take control.  Coulson would fix this.  Coulson would make it all go away.  He could hear Harris’ father screaming behind him, demanding he be held responsible for what had happened to his son, demanding that he be locked up for good.  The man screamed something about people like Trip not being allowed in good neighborhoods, that _they_ only brought trouble.

 

Phil walked past Trip nodding once as he did.  He walked straight to Mr. Radcliffe who had not even stopped to take a breath.  Phil stopped nose to nose with the man cutting him off.  Radcliffe pulled back only to have Phil step forward.  Radcliffe let out a disgusted breath and tried to step to the side, again blocked by Phil.

 

“Get out of my way, fool.”  He growled.  Phil merely smiled.

 

“I want you off my lawn.” Phil smiled again.

 

The man sputtered and squirmed under Phil’s grin.  “ _Your_ lawn?  Are you responsible for this delinquent, this menace?”  He pointed at Trip, trying again to step around Phil.  “Were you aware this…this…piece of garbage was on your lawn??”  The man demanded.

 

“His name is Antoine.  His friends call him Trip.  He defended his baby sister and his mother.  He is _my_ son.  And I will only ask you one more time to get off my property and take your family with you.”  Phil’s voice remained cool, chillingly…frighteningly cool and much more threatening than if he too had yelled.

 

The man stopped…stunned as if someone had socked him in the gut.  He turned away looking at the ambulance that had begun to pull away from the curb.  Turning back, he actually laughed.  He bent forward then stood back and let out what might be called a whoop.    


“What are you running here, a halfway house or your own refugee camp for the United Nations?”  He laughed again.  “For gods’ sake…you’ve got those little limeys sniveling over there with the wetback.  You’re married to a Chinese Commie with a half-breed little chink daughter and this delinquent ni…”

 

The man didn’t finish.  Phil’s fist knocked him on his ass before he could.  He moved his hand to his mouth and wiped the blood from his lip before struggling to stand.  Hunter and Mack moved to stand on either side of Phil but gave him a wide berth.  Someone needed to give this guy hell and they were more than willing to watch their boss have the honor.  The two officers that had been holding Trip let go and moved to stop the altercation.

 

“I want this man arrested!”  Radcliffe bellowed as they helped him to his feet.  The police pulled him away from Phil and directed him toward his vehicle.  The woman who had been standing behind him, followed.  The man continued to demand Phil be arrested and threatened to bring charges against him and everyone else.  The two officers escorted him to his vehicle and helped him inside, then directed him away from the curb and stood to be sure he drove away.

 

“Man, I am glad you decked that damn loud mouth before I did.”  Mack mumbled under his breath as Phil turned toward Trip.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. C…I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t know, didn’t know he’d do that…hurt Skye.  I’m so sorry.”  Trip spoke so quickly between sobbing it was hard to understand him.

 

Before Phil could get to the boy, an officer who appeared to be in charge ordered another to remove the cuffs from Trip’s wrists.  He apologized to Phil and Mack, explaining it was procedure and that they had gotten the same story from Melinda as from Trip.  Trip would need to go to the station to give an official statement.  He smiled at the boy and slapped a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“You did what you could to protect your mother and your sister, son.  If you were my son, I’d be damn proud.”  He looked at the boy’s raw knuckles.  “You should get that looked at, don’t want an infection.  Looks like the other guy’s teeth did a number there, could get nasty.”

 

Trip looked at his hands, realizing for the first time that the blood there was his own.  He nodded at the large police officer.  “Yes sir,” he swallowed, his voice barely audible.

 

The officer turned to face Phil and put out a hand.  Phil took it and the man gave a hearty shake.  “You gotta great kid there.  Coulson, is it?”  Phil nodded.  “This could have been a lot worse.  Your boy did what needed to be done.”  The officer smiled and shook Phil’s hand again, then leaned forward speaking close to his ear.  “Go easy on him.”  He stood back and smiled again, nodding to Trip, Mack and Hunter who still stood nearby.  “Tomorrow will be soon enough, just bring Antoine down to the station.  Ask for me, Brady.”  The man stepped away, motioning for other officers to wrap things up and clear out.

 

Phil turned to Trip who stood staring at his hands, shuffling from foot to foot.  He did not raise his head when he recognized Phil’s shoes inches from his own.  He stepped back, ashamed to face the man who had opened his home to him…who had trusted him with his children.  Trip tried to swallow the emotion building inside, tried to hold the tears that streamed over his cheeks.  He watched as they splashed against his arms and stung the backs of his hands.  “I’m sorry.”  He whispered, barely moving his lips.

 

Coulson said nothing.  He took the boy in his arms and held him as he dissolved into the embrace, letting go of all he’d been holding since he walked around the garage and saw that animal attacking his baby sister.  Mack and Hunter, in turn, gently slapped the boy on the back and moved away, allowing him and Phil time to console each other. 

 

 

Phil walked the length of the hospital corridor.  His shoes echoed in the empty space.  A young nurse passed and smiled a silent greeting.  He checked the numerals on the large plaques outside the doors until he found the door he sought.  Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open and stepped inside. 

 

The curtain was drawn.  A small light cast a glow in the small room.  Melinda sat in the only chair, close to the crib that held her small child.  The woman’s right arm was now bandaged and resting in a sling.  Phil stepped to the side of the crib, staring at the little girl it held.

 

“She’s asleep.”  Melinda remarked, sounding more than exhausted.  “Her arm is broken, just above her elbow.”  She took a shaky breath.  “He just squeezed it until it cracked.”  She took another breath and let it out slowly, “that bastard,” she growled through her teeth.

 

Phil grit his teeth, holding the comments that ran through his mind.  He closed his eyes imagining every scenario of him choking the life out of that tall, skinny felon who did this to his family.  He could not speak, could not answer or even acknowledge the fact his wife was speaking to him.

 

Melinda swallowed the bile that threatened to bring up her guts and took several cleansing breaths before speaking.  “They want to keep her overnight…mostly because of the bump on her head…they said she’ll sleep the whole time.”  She almost laughed at the thought of Skye sleeping all night long.

 

“I’ll have them bring in a cot.”  Phil stated without facing his wife.  For now, he could not take his gaze from his daughter.  “The crew is staying at the house with Fitz and Jemma.  I told them you would call to say goodnight.”  Melinda nodded behind him. 

 

The door opened admitting a nurse who led Trip into the room.  A small butterfly band-aid held together a small gash above his eyebrow and his right hand was wrapped in a mitten-sized bandage.  She walked to Melinda and handed her a small bottle of pills.

 

“Doctor says he’s good.  No sutures, no concussion…” she pointed at the bottle, “antibiotic to prevent infection.”  She turned to Trip.  “Okay, Rocky,” she smiled, “follow the instructions and stay out of trouble.”

 

Melinda stood and faced the young boy who cringed when he saw the sling.  Before he could speak, she pulled him close and kissed his forehead.  Trip was crying again, unable to control his tears.

 

The nurse moved to the crib and checked both the monitors and IV bag that hung above it then turned to Phil and spoke softly.  “She’ll be okay, Dad.  We’re keeping her out for now, just to let her calm down.  It’ll wear off by morning.  I’ll get another chair for you.”  She smiled and walked out, returning a few minutes later with a wide recliner.

 

Melinda and Trip had moved to Phil’s side, she kept an arm around the boy’s shoulders as they watched the little girl sleep.  “Phil,” she whispered, “maybe you should take Trip home.  I’ll stay with her.”

 

“I want to stay…please,” Trip asked quietly.  “Please let me stay.  I want to be here when she wakes up.”

 

Phil nodded slowly, turning to face them.  “We’ll all stay.”

 

Melinda directed Trip to the wide chair.  They sat together, his head on her shoulder. 

 

Phil remained next to the crib. 

 

Eventually, he would take up a spot on the chair next to it, but he would remain vigilant throughout the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These have been hard chapters to write and honestly I don't know where this is going until I start typing. It kinda took on a life of its own. As long as there is interest I will keep going...otherwise I will draw it to a close, but I promise not to just let it die away. Thanks for all the comments and encouragement. I really do appreciate all of them. Thank you again.


	31. Letting the Monsters Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Coulsons fear they will lose Skye, but Sr. Mary Claire remembers something that may change everything.

Melinda was out of the chair and next to the crib at Skye’s first weak moan.  She slipped the sling over her head, letting it fall to the floor.  Phil and Trip were not in the room.  She assumed they’d stepped out to find breakfast or at least coffee.  She stepped to the side of the large crib and dropped the side allowing it to fall to the floor without a sound.  The little girl moved her head side to side and slowly opened her eyes.  She blinked a few times and took a breath before stretching her arms and legs, immediately pulling back from the pain.  The sound she made could not even be called a sob it was too weak.

 

The nurse had removed the IV an hour before, allowing the sedatives to wear off.  She had whispered to Melinda that it would allow the child to gradually wake.  The drugs made her groggy and had the situation not been so dire, her reaction could have been called comical.  She turned toward Melinda and raised her brows, eyes wide in wonder.

 

“Hi, Mama,” she sighed around a silly smile. 

 

“Hello, bao bao,” Melinda whispered through a choked sob as she reached out and pushed the little girl’s hair from her face.  “Mama missed you, my baby.”  She leaned into the crib and kissed Skye’s forehead.

 

Skye tried to sit up, but the dizzy feeling kept her down.  She yawned and rubbed her eye with her free fist.  Without warning, the child began crying, not wailing or sobbing out loud, just soft whimpering.  She struggled to turn toward her mother.  “Mama…”

 

Melinda needed nothing more.  She took the small girl in her arms, ignoring the pain it brought to her bandaged limb.  Skye was still weak and barely held on to her mother as Melinda sat in the large chair and held the girl in her lap, pulling her close, shushing her and slowly rocking her back and forth.  She pressed her lips to Skye’s head and rested her cheek against her baby’s hair, somehow not being able to hold her close enough…tightly enough.

 

“Mama…” Skye’s tiny voice came from deep within Melinda’s embrace.

 

“Shhhh, baby, shhhh,” May crooned keeping the small hot pink casted arm outside of her hugs, careful not to cause her child more pain.  “Mama’s here…Mama will always be here, baby.”  Her voice cracked as the memory of yesterday’s terror played repeatedly in her mind.

 

“Mama…” Skye sighed again, this time struggling to look up at her mother.  Melinda pulled her arm back taking the child with it, allowing Skye’s head to lie back against her shoulder.  She still smiled a funny little smile.  “Hi, Mama…” she repeated as if it were the first time she noticed Melinda. 

 

This time Melinda did smile through her tears.  “Hi, baby,” she half-laughed, half-sobbed.

 

Skye smiled back and reached out with her free hand to touch her mother’s face, lightly brushing her fingers over Melinda’s cheek.  “Mama.”  She simply stated, satisfied this was, in fact, her mother.

 

“Mama is here, bao bao.  You are safe now.”  Melinda said in a shaky breath, leaning down to kiss the little girl’s nose.

 

“Whoa eye nee,” Skye replied pointing to her eye and then her knee as she did.

 

“Wǒ yě ài nǐ. Wǒ fēicháng ài nǐ.”  Melinda answered, kissing her again.

 

Skye was very still for a few moments.  Her eyes darted around the room then back to her mother.  “Mama, why I gots diapers?”  She patted her tummy where the questionable item was secured.  “I not a baby.”  She smiled that silly smile again, around a yawn then snuggled into her mother’s bosom and drifted back to sleep. 

 

 

Phil had taken Trip to the hospital commissary hoping to get the kid to eat something.  Neither had had supper the night before and Phil didn’t realize it until he noticed the sunrise a few hours ago.  He wasn’t hungry.  His stomach would not take well to any kind of food, but he hoped Trip would try to eat something.  He glanced at the boy over the top of his Styrofoam coffee cup.  It tasted like ‘panther piss’, as his grandfather used to say about a weak, tasteless brew.  Trip took a few bites of the bagel Phil had talked him into, but had no real interest in it.  He drank the orange juice and dropped his napkin over what he had not eaten.

 

“Maybe we should get back.”  Trip looked toward the door and shuffled his feet anxiously.

 

Phil looked into his cup.  “I think we should.”  He commented as he stood.  Trip stood as well and followed his guardian across the cafeteria toward the elevator. 

 

They had to walk through the main hospital corridor to reach the lift and Phil noticed a familiar face waiting for the doors to open.  “Sr. Mary Claire?” he asked as he stepped next to the small nun.

 

“Mr. Coulson…” she turned toward his voice, startled (or was she perhaps embarrassed…nervous) because of it.  She looked up at the taller, pinched face woman who stood next to her.   The woman did not look back, nor did she look at Phil, but simply watched as the numbers over the elevator dropped signaling the car was on its way down. 

 

Phil smiled for a moment, contemplating the right way to say what he wanted to convey.  “You’re here about Skye, aren’t you?”  He asked quietly, hoping he was wrong.  He felt Trip step closer, felt the boy’s anxiety as he too waited for the dreaded answer.

 

The small nun reached out and laid a hand on Phil’s arm.  She smiled at Trip and swallowed delicately before answering.  “We were informed.  It is procedure and Skye is a temporary placement at this time.”  Phil could see the tears forming the woman’s eyes.  He pulled away.

 

“You are not taking her.”  He said calmly as he felt Trip tense and take a quick breath.  “I don’t care how temporary you feel her placement is…I…we…she is our child.  We are her family; we don’t need paperwork to affirm it.”  He remained cool, afraid to release the emotions he held with an iron first.

 

The pinch-faced woman glared at them.  “What happens from here has not yet been determined, Mr. Coulson.  We are here to evaluate the situation and make sure that Skye is in the safest environment.  We will be sure to establish that she is where her needs can best be met.  That is our only intent, I assure you.”

Sr. M. Claire moved between the woman and Phil before he could respond.  “This is Jade Johnson, our current social service specialist.”  

 

Phil knew what that meant.  She was the woman who had facelessly vetted them as Skye’s foster parent and released her into their custody almost four months ago.  Up until now, she had been merely a signature on the forms he kept in his office safe.  He thought of her about the same way he did the person whose signature graced the ten-dollar bill in his wallet.  She was ink scribble on a piece of paper transformed into the tall, bone thin woman who now waited for the elevator.

 

“I don’t think Melinda is up to this.”  He stated almost as if thinking out loud.

 

“Now is the best time to complete this investigation, while it is still fresh in everyone’s mind.”  She eyed Trip for the first time, noticing how he nervously shifted from foot to foot; staring at the elevator’s descending numbers, avoiding her eyes.  “I take it you are the young man living with the Coulsons without official documentation.”

 

Trip blinked rapidly.  “My gram…” he swallowed and lowered his voice, realizing how childish he sounded.  “I have my grandmother’s permission.  She’s been sick.”

 

“Hmmm,” Johnson turned up one side of her mouth and narrowed her eyes.  Either she didn’t believe him or she was about to make more of it than necessary.  The soft ping of the elevator door opening stopped her.  She stepped inside and pressed the button for the pediatrics floor, not waiting for the others who slipped in the car as the door began to close.

 

 

Phil asked Sr. Claire and the stoic social worker to wait outside the door until he had a chance to speak with Melinda.  The woman put up an argument, but the small nun was able to convince her that it would do no harm and that the hospital room was a controlled environment.  He took a deep breath and steeled himself for what needed to be said and done.

 

Melinda sat in the large recliner with Skye tucked neatly into her lap.  The large seat turned out to be a rocking chair with the flick of a small lever.  A young nurse’s aid had come into the room with a breakfast tray and demonstrated it when she saw the mother swaying back and forth with her baby.  Now, she sat with her cheek resting on Skye’s head and humming a familiar lullaby.  Phil could see that the child was awake.  Her little fingers stuck out of the cast that covered her left arm from just below her knuckles to her collarbone. They were wriggling in rhythm with her mother’s song.

 

As soon as Skye saw him, she lifted her head.  “Daddy,” she smiled that same silly smile.  “I gots a pink sleaf.”  She tried to lift the heavy cast to show him.  Melinda stopped her.

 

“Let’s keep it still, baby.”  She smiled at Phil, quickly changing her demeanor as she recognized his look.

 

Skye nodded.  “Look, Daddy, Mama gots a sleaf too, but hoers is white.  She gots a sving, too.”  She pointed at Melinda’s sling now folded on the opposite chair.

 

“Mama’s supposed to wear that sling.”  He scolded his wife as he lifted the little girl from her lap.  He held her carefully, kissing her cheek as she rested her head on his shoulder.  The tiny hospital gown she worn fell open in the back revealing the institutional diaper the nurses had used on her ‘just in case’.  He gently patted her bottom and looked into his wife’s troubled eyes.

 

“Guess who came to see your beautiful sleeve?”  Phil asked the little girl in his arms, but actually addressed his wife.  Skye attempted to shrug her shoulders but managed only a quick one-armed squirm.  She reached around her daddy and patted his back with her free hand, the heavy cast rested on his opposite shoulder.  “It’s someone who really cares about you.”  Skye made a squeaky moaning sound that both he and Melinda chalked up to her still being a little loopy from the sedatives.  Melinda furrowed her brows and cocked her head at him, wondering what he was getting at and why he didn’t just come out with it.

 

“Sister Mary Claire is outside.  She wants to make sure you are alright.”  Phil told the little girl with an encouraging tone.  He could feel the child shaking her head against him.  She jerked her legs and again gave the funny protest noise.  Melinda’s look of confusion deepened.  Phil bounced Skye gently and patted her bottom again.  “Hey,” he crooned as he kissed the back of her head.  “Sister came all the way here, just to see you.  She even brought a friend with her.”  Again, he looked to Melinda, this time tilting his head toward the door that stood ajar.  “I think you should be nice enough to say hello, don’t you.”  He kissed her again.  Again, she shook her head.

 

Before Melinda could move to the door, Sr. M. Claire and Mrs. Johnson stepped inside.  They had been listening just outside.  Trip, who had chosen to wait in the hall, now made his way into the room and stood next to Phil, but out of Skye’s line of view.  Not that the little girl could see him, she had squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

 

“Good morning, Mrs. Coulson.” Sister Claire smiled as she greeting Melinda.  

 

Skye tensed in her father’s arms, pulling herself closer to him and holding tighter with her one good arm and both legs.  He back away from the two women, putting a safe distance between them and his child.

 

“I’m so sorry to hear about what happened.  Are you in much pain, dear?”  The nun hugged Melinda quickly, careful not to disturb her bandaged arm.  Melinda did not answer, simply questioned with her eyes looking past the small woman to the other person in the room.  Sister followed her gaze.  “I’m sorry, where are my manners?”  She turned to Jade.  “Mrs. Coulson, this is our social services specialist, Jade Johnson.” 

 

Jade smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes and jutted out a hand.  “Mrs. Coulson,” she spoke professionally, realizing Melinda could not or would not return the gesture she dropped her hand to join the other that rested on the handle of her large briefcase.  “I have a few questions for…well for all of you.  There are some details that will have to be discussed in order for my agency make a decision on how we will proceed.”  Melinda still did not speak.  She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.  “That is to say, Mrs. Coulson, just how safe Skye is in your care.”

 

Phil felt the tension level in the room rise.  It was as if someone had upped the thermostat and it immediately forced through the small space.  The air was thick with the heat of what, for now, remained unsaid.  Skye began to sniffle.  Trip brushed a tear from his cheek.  Melinda’s jaw tightened.  He knew she was gritting her teeth, holding on to the last of her patience.  She would not lose it in front of their children.

 

“I’m sure you understand our position.”  Jade commented as she walked past Melinda.  “Hello, Skye.”  Her voice was higher as she placed a hand on the little girl’s back.  Skye squirmed in Phil’s arms, pulling herself again closer to him.  She squealed under her breath and swiped out gently with her free arm attempting to push the woman away.

 

Sr. M. Claire stepped behind Phil and gently brushed the little girl’s hair from her still closed eyes.  “Sweetheart, it’s me…Sister Claire.  Jade just wants to talk to you, honey.”  She spoke in the same tone she always used with Skye, but the little girl would have none of it.

 

“I no go witchu.  I go home wit Mama and Daddy.”  She turned her face away from the others, pushing it into Phil’s neck.  She tried desperately to reach around his neck and connect with her casted arm.  “I no like Zade.  Hoer no bleafs me.”  Her voice was now muffled, but Phil understood.

 

“No one is taking you anywhere, bao bao.”  Melinda finally spoke as she moved to stand next to Phil.  She wrapped an arm around the little girl and reached behind her to take Trip’s hand.  “We are a family and no one is changing that.”

 

Jade smiled that fake grin again.  “I said we needed to talk, Mrs. Coulson.  No one said anything about taking Skye away, but I can state with absolute honesty that we will do what we feel is best for her.”

 

Melinda noticed the small nun shudder, close her eyes and turn away for a moment.  Something wasn’t right.  She’d been in the people business long enough to see that.  They were hiding something, that same something Sister Claire had almost told her the night of Skye’s party.  She quickly glanced at Phil and knew immediately that he had seen it too.

 

Before anyone could continue, Dr. Stephens entered the room, followed by one of the young nurses who had recently come on shift.  The woman smiled as she entered and snapped the film she was carrying on to the lighted panel on the wall next to the hospital crib.

 

“Good morning, everyone,” she glanced around the room at the occupants, “a bit busy in here for such an early hour.”  She stepped toward the two strangers and offered her hand.  “I’m afraid we haven’t met.  I’m Maura Stephens, Skye’s physician and I am absolutely certain that this little lady was to have no visitors except for family.”  She patted the little girl’s back and felt her tense under the touch.

 

“Jade Johnson,” the stone-faced woman took the doctor’s hand and shook it once before dropping it.  “I represent Children’s Services and in reality and for lack of a better term, _I_ am Skye’s family until such time as she is formally and legally adopted.”

 

The doctor raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.  She nodded once, casually catching Melinda’s glare.  “I see,” she breathed. 

 

“This is Sister Mary Claire, from St. Agnes’,” Jade nodded toward the nun.  “She is with me in the event I find it necessary to have Skye returned to the foundling home.”

There it was.  It was said.  It was made reality.  This unbending woman was on a witch-hunt and her intention was to take Skye from the only home she knew, from the people who loved her…from her family.

 

Sr. Mary Claire drew a shaky breath and turned away from the group, quickly wiping her eyes.  Skye whimpered and jerked her feet before letting out a deep sob.  Melinda quickly moved to cover the child with her own body, effectively putting the little girl in the middle of her and Phil.  The child was sandwiched between both parents.  Her mother’s head firmly against her back, shushing her softly, her father still holding her tightly, his head pressed against hers.  Trip stood behind them, watching the scene unfold, trying desperately to put together what had happened and how it had gotten this far.

 

Before anyone could speak, Dr. Stephens held up a hand.  “Well, Ms. Johnson, right now, I will be the one making the decisions and as far as I am concerned, Skye is staying right where she is.”

 

Phil smiled inwardly as the unsmiling woman’s mouth dropped open a bit.

 

“If you look here,” the doctor drew everyone’s attention toward the X-rays she had snapped onto the examining light.  She pointed to the small bones it displayed.  “This is the break in Skye’s humerus.”  The doctor ran the edge of her pen in a circle around the area.  “Here,” she pointed with the pen to another area about half an inch above the first, “you can see where a second break has healed.”  She flicked on the opposite light, illuminating a second film.  “This is Skye’s right arm.”  She turned toward the group who were watching closely.  “We take pictures of the opposite limb for comparison.” She explained.  “As you can also see,” she circled an area that showed two dark lines on the small bone, about four inches apart. “There are also indications of healed fractures here and here.  All three are hairline fractures and would have caused the child considerable pain.  I’ve checked records at St. Agnes and spoke to the clinic doctors.  I cannot seem to locate any records of Skye being treated for these injuries.”

 

Melinda made a sound that could only be called a growl and probably would have done more if Phil hadn’t wrapped an arm around her.  He felt the growing need to punch something.  Even Trip, for as guilty as he felt, now wrestled with the familiar need to protect the little sister he adored.

 

Sr. Claire sucked in a shocked breath.  “Doctor,” she breathed.  “I assure you that Skye was never injured while at St. Agnes.  We would have certainly…”

 

The social worker cut her off with a look.  “Are you implying this child has been abused by these people?  That changes everything, doctor.”  The woman dropped her briefcase and crossed her arms over her chest.  “I want the police notified immediately.”  She looked to the small nun.  “I will make arrangements for the child to be removed from this home as of today.”

 

“The Coulsons had nothing to do with these injuries, Ms. Johnson.” The doctor stated calmly.  “From the looks of the scarring, I would say these fractures occurred a year to eighteen months ago.  That would be long before Melinda and Phil even knew Skye existed.”  The doctor smiled.  “As her caseworker, perhaps you can shed some light on this situation.”

 

Now, Jade Johnson fell silent, locking eyes with the doctor in an effort to avoid the others.

Dr. Stephens turned to the Coulsons.  “I’d like to do a complete work up on Skye.”  She began.  “Get more X-rays, just to be sure.”  Phil nodded his permission.  “Brenda’s going to give her something to help her relax.”  She nodded toward the nurse, who quickly injected the little girl’s arm.

 

Skye screamed in protest, but quickly surrendered to the medication.  Her grip on her daddy fell away and she became limp in his arms.  The nurse put out her arms to take the child but Phil shook his head, not yet ready to give her to anyone.  Both he and Melinda moved to the crib where he gently placed their baby, each bending to kiss her before the crib side would be raised and she’d be whisked away.  Trip move to the side of the bed as well, placing a kiss on the little girl’s forehead.  He stepped back as the nurse secured the crib, released the brakes and carefully maneuvered it out of the room.

 

“It will be a while,” the doctor informed them.  “I’m sure we have a lot to talk about until she gets back.”

 

 

Sr. M. Claire paced across the small room, nibbling on her thumbnail and softly mumbling to herself.  Jade glared at her.  “Why don’t you sit down, Claire?  You’re only making it worse.”  She warned.

 

The doctor had gone to collect her file on Skye, directing the group to a small conference room at the end of the hall.  There everyone could sit and discuss this matter.  Jade had placed her briefcase on the table and removed her own files about the child, stacking them neatly in order in front of her.  The Coulsons had stayed in the room, him calming her or vice versa.  Jade wasn’t really sure which was which and she really didn’t care.  She was not there to pacify them.  She was there to enforce the rules meant to protect the child not the adults.  A job she intended to do in order make this go away as quickly as humanly possible.  She’d dealt with this little problem before. 

 

That’s how she looked at Skye, her worst little problem.  The baby that couldn’t be placed because she cried too much.  The toddler that couldn’t be placed because she had too much energy.  The girl that kept coming back no matter how much she did to find the perfect family for _the_ imperfect child.  What did she expect?  The girl’s own mother didn’t want her.  She’d left her in that filthy blanket on the steps of that ancient church…in the middle of the night, with not even a note to say why.  To Jade Johnson, Skye was just a pain that she could not manage…one that would not go away. 

 

She snapped out of the thoughts as the Coulsons entered the room.  Looking up at Trip as he followed behind, she tsked lightly.  “The boy does not need to be here.”

 

Phil stopped, ushering Melinda and Trip around him.  He glanced at his wife telling her he would handle the situation.  “The _boy_ is our son.  His _name_ is Antoine. This is about our family.  He stays with us.”  Phil didn’t wait for a response.  He didn’t need one.  The family moved to the opposite end of the table and took their seats.

 

Dr. Stephens joined the group a few minutes later and took a seat.  Sr. Clair finally sat, as well.

 

 

“So what you’re saying is that this baby had not one but two fractured arms and no one was aware of it?”  The doctor looked to the social worker as she dropped the file she had held to the table.

 

Jade let out an exasperated breath.  “What I am saying is,” she dropped her own file, “that I have no record of any such injuries at anytime.”

 

“How could a child be in that much pain and no one notices?”  Phil questioned, squeezing Melinda’s hand.

 

“She was always crying about something,” Jade barked, losing what was left of her scant patience. 

 

“How dare you!”  Melinda jumped to her feet, pulled back by Phil before she leapt across the small table.  “How dare you make light of my child’s pain!”

 

Jade almost laughed.  “Again, I repeat, Mrs. Coulson.  She is not _your_ child and if I have a say in it, she never will be.”

 

Melinda felt the ice-cold dagger pierce her heart.  This woman…this witch…this _bitch_ …did have a say in it and she held the power to take her baby away.  Melinda pulled her hands into tight fists, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.  She felt the stitches in her arm pop with the tension, but she took a breath and sat back down.

 

Jade gave her a smug sneer, feeling she now had the upper hand.

 

“I believe I have some say in this as well.”  Dr. Stephens added, hoping to relieve some of the tension.  “Skye is safe and happy with the Coulsons.  She’s started preschool and for as many times as I’ve seen her she has been healthy and happy.  I truly believe the Coulson’s love their little girl.  None of this happened while she was in their care.”

 

“All of this happened in their care,” Jade shot back.  “She’s here because of being in their care.”

 

“We love Skye with all our heart,” Phil explained.  “We love all of our children that much, but that doesn’t mean bad things aren’t going to happen.  Bad things happen all of the time.  Kids get hurt.  They fall down and we pick them up.  They have a bad day and we are there to get them through it.  Sometimes their team loses,” he looked at Trip who smiled back. “And we help them get over the loss.  What matters is that we are there, all of us, together.”

 

Jade snorted a sick laugh.  “Platitudes,” she sneered.  “I’ve heart all of them.  It doesn’t change the fact that Skye was severely injured while in your care.”

 

“Radcliffe!”  Sr. Mary Claire exclaimed, suddenly remembering what had been eluding her.

 

Everyone stopped and looked at the small nun, who now stood shaking her head.

 

“You placed her with the Radcliffes.” She glared at Jade Johnson, all of her memories coming back.  “That’s what it was.”

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Claire.”  The woman picked up her files and tapped them on the table, avoiding the nun’s gaze.

 

“Please, sister, go on,” the doctor encouraged.

 

“It makes sense now…why I couldn’t console her, no matter what I did.  Oh, sweet Lord Jesus, what have I done…?”  The nun fell back to her seat and crossed herself then folded her hand in front against her forehead.  “My poor sweet, Skye.”

 

Melinda quickly moved to the seat next to the older woman and wrapped her arm around the nun’s shoulders. 

 

“Oh, I should have known…should have done something.”  She stopped and dropped her hands to her lap, looking straight at Melinda.  “The nightmares, the terrors,” she gasped, grabbing Melinda’s hand.  “That’s when they started…oh dear Lord…”  The older woman was overcome.

 

Jade watched for a moment.  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.  “Children have nightmare all the time.”

 

“Not like Skye,” Phil, Melinda and Trip answered in chorus.

 

Sr. Mary Claire composed herself and turned back on Jade.  “ _You_ brought her back from the Radcliffe family.  You were so angry…so angry that it didn’t work out.”  The nun stopped, remembering more.  “She tried to tell you and you brushed her off, said she was lying.”  She stopped again and gasped, pulling her hand to her mouth.  “You knew!  Oh lord, you knew!”

 

Jade was beginning to lose control.  She had never experienced panic, but she was sure that is what was building.  She felt the need to run, to escape from this small room and these people.  She needed Mary Claire to stop.  She hadn’t intended for the girl to be hurt, didn’t know the Radcliffe’s son was…well was so damaged.  It was her job to check out the parents, not the other children. She had to protect everyone…including herself.  She didn’t know the girl was hurt, sure, she had a couple bruises but kids get bruises.  They didn’t look serious and yes, Skye cried a lot, all the time.  Lord, she did not like that little kid, but she never meant for her to be hurt. 

 

Yes, panic was creeping up on Jade Johnson and it was bringing with it a load of self-preservation.

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Claire.” Jade shot at the nun, hoping to goad her into submissive silence.

 

However, it was too late, Sister Mary Claire knew the truth and she could not keep it hidden any longer.


	32. Getting all the Way to the Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of Sr.Mary Claire, Jade Johnson is forced to reveal the truth...a truth she has not even told herself
> 
>  
> 
> Warning! There are some racial slurs in this chapter. I apologize to anyone offended, but they were needed to show the cruelty and stupidity of the character. In all honesty I had to look them up because quite frankly, I don't know any. I was amazed to find a website that actually lists these dreadful words and their meanings. I was appalled. I was tempted to WASH my laptop!!

 

“I think we’d all like to know exactly what she’s talking about.”  Dr. Stephens stated calmly before Phil could react.  She turned and lifted a black telephone receiver from the wall and calmly spoke into it.  “I need security in the conference room east, peeds floor.”  It was short and simple and left no room for misinterpretation.  She placed the receiver back on the wall and turned toward the small group, nodding for the nun to continue

 

“Go on, Sister,” Melinda urged, holding the nun’s hand for support.  Trip retrieved a box of Kleenex from the table in the far corner and passed it to the woman.  Sr. Mary Claire pulled one from the box and dabbed at her eyes.

 

The older woman took a shaky breath and glanced at the social worker once before continuing.  The woman said nothing, but the look in her eyes was caustic.  She practically willed Mary Claire to remain silent.  Whatever had happened was done, nothing could change it.  She’d simply move the child; move her away from the Coulsons who perhaps cared too much.  Then she’d transfer her away from that nosy nun.  The nun she had warned over and over not to get personally involved, but the old busybody just couldn’t listen.  She doted on that little brat, probably made her worse.  No wonder she couldn’t stay in any of the homes she’d placed her in, she probably acted out just to get back to Mary Claire.  She’d do what she could to have that old bat transferred as well, transferred somewhere she’d never see another child.

 

Jade Johnson loved her job, loved the power it gave her, however she had very little care for the children whose lives she held in her hands.  She had been the social worker at St. Agnes for the last six years.   She placed the children in foster homes and helped with adoptions.  She had a stellar record and her office wall was plastered with framed photos of her success stories.  Photos of her with that fake smile, standing with parents and children in front of the great seal of the District of Columbia.  She proudly boasted that every child she had ever placed had been adopted if not by the first family then surely by the second.  She was quick to add that even temporary foster children had been happily reunited with their parent and to date had remained there.  

 

When the Radcliffes came to St. Agnes, Jade was immediately impressed, Hayden Radcliffe ran a Tech company, his wife, Evangeline sat on the board of several charities and was heavily involved in volunteer work.  They had two sons, Harris who had just turned thirteen and Malcolm who was ten.  Mrs. Radcliffe explained that they would love to have a little girl, but after trying for many years.  It just was not to be.  The couple had a sprawling home in Chevy Chase with more than enough room for their two sons and the little girl they hoped to add to the family. 

 

Jade visited the Radcliffes, who had already completed all the paperwork and had stunning references from several high-ranking officials on Capitol Hill.  The home was pristine.  Although the Radcliffes seemed strict, their boys were courteous and polite.  She verified the references, spoke to the pastor at the family’s place of worship and interviewed the couple separately as well as individually.  Everything seemed genuine, everything checked out fine.  There was no reason to believe this was not the perfect setting for a child.  Which child was her decision and little crybaby Skye was not on her list, not even the short list.

 

She had spent days debating on the child who should be given such an opportunity.  It finally came down to three and although she had hoped to place an eight-year old girl who had recently come to St. Agnes’ in their home, the Radcliffes declined saying they would much rather a much younger child.    

 

Jade couldn’t understand why, they didn’t seem like they’d be into caring for an infant or toddler.  Mrs. Radcliffe agreed saying that the girl would have to be trained.  She had no intention of dealing with diapers or toilet training.  That narrowed the choices to two and that quickly became dwindled when the first child suddenly had a relative show up to take custody and the second came with a caveat that stated she and her older brother be kept together. 

 

Jade looked at her list.  Seven children under the age of five were currently awaiting placement.  Four of the seven were little boys and of the three girls, only one was completely trained.  She stared at the name on the list for a long time, drumming her fingers on her desk.  She could ask the Radcliffes to wait a few weeks, perhaps the nuns would be successful in training one of the other girls.  On the other hand, if this worked out she’d never have to worry about the little thorn in her side again.  Mary Sue Poots, or Skye as she’d been nicknamed by some dim witted old biddy, would be gone forever.

 

Skye was not yet three, but she was fully trained.  Jade glared at the toddler who had already been in two foster homes.  She shook her finger at the tiny girl in the faded yellow dress and warned her to mind her manners and do as she was told.  Skye’s lip quivered as she nodded and reached for the large ratty bunny that ever-hovering nun was handing her.  Jade had ripped it from the child, tossing it across the room. 

 

“You don’t need that nasty thing!”  She growled as she snatched the child from the desk where she had been standing.  Skye’s head snapped back as she moved with the force. “You’re going to a fine home, with upstanding people.  You can’t have that rag there.”

 

Sister Mary Claire had been there.  She quickly squashed Salty into Skye’s little suitcase and followed Jade to the car.  She kissed Skye and wished her luck then watched as the social worker’s vehicle pulled away from the curb.  Sister Mary Claire had also met the Radcliffes.  She didn’t like them, not at all.  They were Pointy People and her Skye needed Pillows.  She knew that little girl needed a family but she made a silent prayer that this would not be the one.

 

A week later, Jade returned very early in the morning with a screaming Skye in her arms.  She pushed the girl into the nun’s arms and again threw the now one-eyed, dirty, stuffed bunny on the floor and kicked it down the hall.  She slammed the door of her office, sealing herself in without saying a word.

 

“Skye cried for hours.”  Sister Mary Claire dabbed at the tears that had fallen down her cheeks and took another tissue to wipe her nose.  “I didn’t know.”  She shook her head at Melinda.  “I didn’t know she was hurt that badly.  I saw the bruises on her arms, but I never thought…”  Melinda patted the woman’s hand and rubbed her arm in comfort.  She knew the nun would do nothing to hurt Skye and that she had no way to know what had happened.  “I changed her and rocked her and sang to her, but nothing helped.  She…she was always so sad when she returned to St. Agnes.  I thought that was all it was, but…but. Why didn’t I see how different it was?  She just lay for days.  She didn’t talk or play.”  The older woman sniffled and sobbed.  “I thought she was coming down with something,” she nodded at Melinda.  “I did.  She felt feverish and I gave her something for it.  She slept and she cried and then….then the nightmares, Oh, God forgive me…I didn’t…Bless me, Father…”  The older woman dissolved into tears with Melinda fully embracing her, whispering soft words of comfort.  Phil moved to stand behind them and rubbed his hands on the woman’s shoulders.

 

“And you did nothing?” Phil addressed Jade, the calm in his voice more accusing than if he shouted.

 

“I had no idea!”  She barked back, gathering her papers and jamming them into files.  “If anyone is to blame it’s her.” She nodded toward Mary Claire who was now, more than willing to accept the blame.  “She was the child’s primary caregiver once she was returned to the facility.  She told me nothing of this.”  She smacked the edge of her pile of forms on the table with each word.

 

“I believe you’ve made it perfectly clear that _you_ are responsible for Skye, that _you_ are her family.  Shouldn’t you have checked on her once she returned?”  The doctor inquired, already knowing the law made this woman legally responsible as a representative of the Child Services Agency.  Dr. Stephens was well aware of the CPA laws.

 

An uncomfortable silence fell on the room, disturbed only by a light tapping on the door.  A security officer poked his head in to let the doctor know he had arrived.  She asked him to wait outside the door until she needed him.  He nodded and stepped back, closing the door softly.  Any hope that Jade had of an easy exit had just evaporated.

 

She’d been called to the Radcliffe home by a hysterical Hayden.  The chaos in the background made it difficult to hear anything more than him demanding that ‘that little bastard’ be removed from his home immediately.  It was four o’clock in the morning.  She quickly dressed and sped across town, hoping to smooth things over and rescue this placement.  It had only been six days since she dropped off the child with the family.  What did that little horror do already?

 

She ran up the steps to the front door and rang the bell.  Radcliffe pulled it open before the chime completed its tone.  Skye stood in the corner with that damn scumbag rabbit clutched to her chest.  She was screaming so loudly, it was almost impossible to hear anything.  The man bellowed at the little girl to shut up or he’d give her something to cry about…again.  Jade cringed with the thought of the man striking the child, she would not allow that…not even for Skye. 

 

Mrs. Radcliffe stood holding a cloth to her older son’s forearm.  It was blood soaked and the boy looked stunned.  The younger son cowered halfway up the stairs, pulling himself as close to the wall as possible.

 

“What have you done?”  Jade demanded as she turned on Skye, stopping when the child pulled back farther into the corner, burying her face in the stuffed toy she held.

 

“What kind of a demon did you send to us, Johnson?!”  Radcliffe demanded.  “It’s bad enough you failed to tell us she was not even white…not even American!  You sent us some little half-breed coolie.  I want her out of my house, NOW!”

 

“What happened?”  She tried again.

 

“The little bitch bit me.”  The older boy said, tearing his arm from his mother’s ministrations and holding it out to her.  “Took a piece of skin…”  The boy’s mother pulled him back and placed the cloth over the bloody wound.  “Went after Malcolm with a bat, damn little chink tried to crack him in his sleep!  He’d be dead if it weren’t for me, and this is what I get.”  The boy continued bellowing.

 

Jade looked to the boy cowering on the stairs.  He shook his head slowly, staring wide-eyed at her.  The social worker would believe Skye was capable of just about anything, but she seriously doubted an underweight, puny three year old could cause much damage, let alone yield a full sized wooden baseball bat.  That didn’t matter, the mark on the other boy’s arm was proof and Skye had been known to bite in the past.  Hadn’t Sr. Daniel Mary disciplined her just a few weeks ago for latching onto one of the older girls?  She was sure she had record of it somewhere.  She would check.

 

“Her bag is out on the lawn.  Just get her out of here!  I have to get my son to the hospital before he has some sort of infection.  Who knows what kind of bacteria that little animal is carrying?”  Radcliffe held the door open. 

 

Jade marched across the room and snatched Skye from the floor causing her to scream louder.  She hurried past the man who slammed the door behind her.  “What is wrong with you?”  She demanded of the little girl as she shook her.  Again, Skye screamed.  “Shut up, before you wake the entire neighborhood.”  She snagged the small suitcase as she passed, hanging on to the still bellowing child with one arm.  The little girl dangled at the woman’s side.  Jade yanked opened the back door of her car and threw the child’s bag in, then dropped her on the seat and slammed the door.  She neither secured her in a safety seat nor bothered to seat belt her.  Skye slid to the floor and curled into a tight ball.  She screamed all the way back to the orphanage despite Jades threats and orders to shut up.

 

She’d already called St. Agnes, but someone was always awake there.  Some sort of welfare regulation that there always had to be at least one adult awake.  It was just her luck that this morning it was that damn busybody, Sr. Mary Claire.  Well, wouldn’t she be happy to have her little devil back?

 

It was almost six when she stormed through the front door and shoved the screaming demon into the nun’s arms.  Even that did not stop the child from caterwauling.  She had tried to pry that stupid rabbit from her, but it was useless, then she dropped it right inside the door.  Jade kicked the toy because she needed to hit something and despite her anger, hurting a child was out of the question.  That’s what she told herself because she did not consider the way she manhandled or emotionally berated them to be abusive. 

 

She stormed down the hall and slammed her office door.  Once inside she turned on the radio putting the volume at its highest level.  She couldn’t stop the crying but she didn’t have to listen to it.

 

 

Jade sat now, simply staring ahead.  Someone was talking but she had tuned it out, lost in her thoughts.  Swallowed by the memories of what had happened, what she had done and mostly with what she had not done or bothered to notice and, in retrospect, what she should have done.

 

She had questioned Skye a few days later, when the documents arrived notifying her that Radcliffe intended to sue her and her department for the damages.  She knew it meant very little and that the legal department would settle any dispute, pay for any damages.  She questioned the little girl anyway, even though she knew Skye had a healthy fear of her.  It wasn’t much of an interview, after all the kid barely spoke intelligently.  Mostly she nodded or shook her head, or just sat with her thumb in her mouth staring at the floor.  Of course, Mary Claire was with her, but she was dismissed after depositing the small child on the large wooden chair in front of Jade’s desk.  The social worker knew to keep the questions simple, yes or no answers.  She flicked on the recorder and noted the date, time and name of the child she was interviewing.

 

“Did you bite Harris Radcliffe?”  She tried to keep the ire from her voice but was unsuccessful.  Skye had flinched immediately, but nodded once.  Jade stated that the child’s nonverbal response was yes.

 

“Did you hurt Malcolm Radcliffe?”  Skye shook her head, but did not meet the woman’s eyes.

 

“I need the truth, Skye.  Do you know what the truth is?”  She tried not to growl as the girl nodded, barely moving her head.

 

“Did you hurt Malcolm Radcliffe?”  Again, Skye shook her head but this time mumbled something under her breath.

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you when you talk like that.  You have to look at me when you speak.”  Jade directed.

 

Skye looked up without raising her head.  “The big boy.”  She whispered

 

Jade blew out an exasperated breath.  “What big boy?  What about the big boy?”

 

“Him hoerted me widda peeo ummy sace.”  Again, the child’s voice was barely audible. 

 

Jade was more than frustrated and felt this was useless.  She rarely understood what Skye said but if the department wanted this ridiculous bit of nonsense, she’d do it just to get it done.  She really didn’t care what the kid said.  She already had the reports from Radcliffe and his sons. 

 

“Right…fine,” she ignored the child’s statement.  “Did you hurt Malcolm?”  She repeated and again, Skye shook her head.

 

“Him tooked him owff.  I cry.”

 

That she understood.  “Of course you did,” she scoffed.  “That’s what you do best.”

 

“I no habba baff, bad boy habbit.  Makum cry.”

 

“You tried to hurt Malcolm, didn’t you Skye?  You hurt Harris, because he tried to stop you.”  Jade was losing her temper and she knew it.

 

Skye shook her head and started to whimper.   “Sisser,” she sobbed and looked toward the door.

 

That was it.  Jade was finished.  She had very little patience for this child and when this child was crying she had no patience whatsoever.  She flicked off the recorder, grabbed the child by the arm and pulled her from the chair.

 

Skye screamed as if she’d poured acid on her.  She stopped and shook the little girl by the arm, noticing a large bruise just above her elbow.  The mark looked suspiciously like imprints of fingers.  Jade let the girl’s arm drop and tried to remember.  Had she been too rough with the child when she took her from the Radcliffes?  Was that bruise even there then?  ‘No’, she told herself, it was not.  She probably got it here, some silly kid thing.  Some older child had been a bit rough in play or one of the nuns….  She turned quickly as her office door opened and Mary Claire rushed in to mollycoddle the little beast that stood shrieking in her office.  The child did not stop as the nun picked her up and rubbed her back, which was unusual.  Skye always stopped when that nun fussed over her, patted her and spoke all squishy to her.  It made Jane sick just to listen.  Now, she was just glad the kid was out of her earshot.  She popped the small cassette out of the machine and dropped it into the envelope with her written report.  She conveniently left out anything to do with the bruising she noticed on Skye’s arm.

 

Jade turned to the still upset nun, remembering now the injuries she had noticed that day.  “Did you even ask her about the marks on her arm?  Did you even notice?”  She wanted to say, ‘or were you too busy fawning all over her to even see them’, but she stopped.  It was too much.

 

Sr. M. Claire thought for a moment.  She was a senior and it had been almost two years.  She didn’t remember everything about that time.  “Skye said they were boo-boos.”  She spoke to Melinda more than to Jade.  “I asked how she got them, but she just shook her head.”  The nun recalled how the little girl pulled away so no one would touch her arms.  She had assumed the bruises were tender and made it a point to be very gentle in dressing and undressing her, as well as bathing.  “Oh, my Lord…” the nun gasped.  “She had a large bruise on her back of her thigh.  I knew she took a spill from one of the small bikes…I just thought…”  The nun turned toward Jade and rose as her voice reached an unusual threatening tone.  “Did you strike her?  Did you strike that baby?”

 

Melinda stood as well; ready to pounce on the woman who failed to protect Skye from the monster that had caused her so much pain.  The woman who was perhaps, just as much a monster as the Radcliffes had turned out to be.

 

Jade stood, as well, “I most certainly did not.  I have never, ever in all my years raised my hand to a child and I would certainly never bring physical harm on any of them.”

 

Dr. Stephens stood and held up a hand.  “I think we’ve heard enough.  Please, sit down…” she waited a few seconds as everyone in the room waited for someone to be the first to take a seat.  “Everyone, please sit down.”  The doctor repeated as she took her seat to solve the problem.  She waited until everyone was seated before continuing.  “I want all of you to know that I am filing an official report with ChildLine, which will open an investigation.”  Jade opened her mouth to speak but the doctor again held up a hand to stop her.  “The police will be arriving shortly, if they have not already.  I know my staff has already contacted them and I ask, Ms. Johnson that you surrender all of your records on Skye to them at that time.  I’m sure they will have questions for all of use.”

 

“What about Skye?”  Trip spoke for the first time, asking the question Phil and Melinda did not want to hear the answer to, fearing the worst.

 

The doctor smiled, “at this time I recommend that Skye remain with the Coulsons.  I feel it is in her best interest both emotionally and physically.  She needs time to heal.  She sees the Coulsons as her parents, her home.  She needs that support and safety to make a complete recovery.”

 

Sr. Mary Claire crossed herself then closed her eyes in prayer, crossed her self a second time and beamed at Melinda.  Melinda smiled back then turned into Phil’s arms finally letting go of the apprehension she had been holding.

 

“Melinda, I’ll need you to come with me.”  Dr. Stephens motioned as she picked up her files and turned toward the door.

 

Both Melinda and Phil furrowed their brows in confusion.

 

The doctor nodded toward Mel’s arm where the blood had seeped through the thick bandage.  “We are going to have to re-suture that wound.”

 

Phil shook his head as Melinda shrugged, turned up one side of her mouth and followed the doctor out of the room.

 

 

The security guard remained at the door to the conference room even after two officers entered to speak with Jade Johnson.  Sr. Mary Claire was accompanied by one of the nurses’ aides to see another doctor; just for a quick check, to be sure the older woman had not overtaxed herself.  The aide offered her a cup of tea, which the nun happily accepted.  Trip and Phil made their way back to Skye’s room to wait for her return as well as Melinda’s. 

 

Trip pushed open the door and entered first, surprised to be almost tackled by both Fitz and Jemma as they wrapped themselves around his middle.  “Whoa!”  He almost laughed as he leaned back only to be caught by Phil before he stumbled back into the hallway.  The boy gave the ‘twins’ a one armed hug, holding his bandaged hand above their heads to protect it from their greeting.

 

A second later Phil received the same greeting.  He looked past his children into the troubled eyes of Mack and Yoyo.  A quick scan of the room brought no trace of Bobbi or Hunter.  Mack shuffled his feet and stared at the floor while Yoyo raised her eyebrows at the kids and shook her head.

 

Phil hugged both the children then bent down to kiss both their heads.  He could not imagine what else could have happened.

 

Fitz pushed away first.  “We were worried about you, Da.  We kept asking Mack to bring us to you.  Don’t be angry with him.  He just couldna take anymore of our whining.”

 

Jemma nodded in agreement, still holding on to Phil.  He kept an arm around her shoulder.  “We wanted to see for ourselves that everyone was alright.  The nurse told us Skye is having a few tests done.  Is she badly hurt, Da?”

 

Phil was taken back for a moment at Jemma’s use of that title.  She’d never used it before, not that he had a problem with it, but it was new.  He watched the smile grow on Yoyo’s face as she winked at the little girl.

 

Leading the younger kids over to the nearest chair, Phil sat down and pulled them close.  “Well, Skye has a broken arm, but she has a pretty neat ‘sleaf’.”  He laughed at their expressions.  “I think she means ‘sleeve’ but it is a cast and a very snazzy shade of pink.”  Before Jemma could ask again, he continued, answering Mack and Yoyo’s unasked questions as well.  “The doctor found some other…older breaks on the X-rays they took and she just wanted to be sure they didn’t miss something.  Skye will be back soon, but they had to give her some medicine to help her relax so she might be a little woozy for a while.”  He wobbled in his seat and rolled his eyes a bit, causing both kids to giggle.  He tapped them both on the chest.  “So, we are going to try really hard not to laugh at her, right?”

 

They looked at each other, then back at Phil and answered together.  “We’ll try.”

 

He pulled them both close and kissed them again, winking at Trip over their heads.  “How about if you guys go with Trip down to the cafeteria and grab us some drinks and a couple munchies?  Maybe stop at the gift shop and see if you can get some of those little chocolate drops your mother never lets you have.”  He wiggled his eyebrows as he stood and pulled out his billfold.  He handed Trip the cash as the boy jutted out his chin in understanding.  He’d keep them away long enough for Phil to talk with Mack and Yoyo.  Phil winked his thank you.  They almost made it to the door when Jemma turned back.

 

“Where’s Mama?”  Worry once again crossed the little girl’s countenance.

 

Phil took her hand and squeezed it.  “She’s talking to the doctor, princess.  She’ll be here when you get back.”  Jemma nodded then hurried to catch up to her brothers.  He waited until he was sure they were gone.  “Well, that’s new.” He spoke to the door before turning to the couple standing near the window.

 

“She asked me about it last night,” Yoyo shrugged, “wanted to know if it would be a betrayal to her parents if she called you and Melinda the same thing Skye and Fitz call you.  I told her I didn’t think you would mind, that maybe you would be so proud to hear her call you Mama and Papa.”  She laughed before continuing.  “She told me she thought it would be much less confusing than all of them calling you different names.”

 

The three of them had a laugh at Jemma’s expense since she was not there.  Mack’s deep chuckle lacked the humor the big man usually felt.  Phil did not miss the look he and Yoyo shared.

 

“So ya gonna tell me?”  He grinned at them.  “What now? The house burn down?  The car was stolen?  What?”   Certainly, they were avoiding some tragedy.

 

“Wish it were that simple.”  Mack grumbled as Yoyo elbowed him in the side.

 

“So??”  Coulson spread out his arms having waited long enough for them to spill it.

 

Mack took a deep breath and shook his head.  “The man, Grant, he has been seen.”  Yoyo spit out quickly.

Phil drew a breath and closed his eyes bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.  He released the breath as he dropped his hand and looked at the large man.  “Where?”

 

“Surveillance has him at Arlington, yesterday afternoon.”  Mack replied.  “Bobbi and Hunter are gone to check it out.”

 

“Great,” Phil growled, wishing there was something he could kick.  “I need that jackass showing up right now.”  He found a target and sent the recently emptied metal wastebasket clanging across the room.   Mack and Yoyo simply moved out of its path.

 

“How long are they gone?”

 

“Left this morning, soon as we got the call.”  Mack filled him in.  “We don’t have an update yet.”

 

Phil nodded, multiple scenarios running through his mind.  This was no time for some lunatic out for revenge to make things worse than they already were.  “Not a word of this to May.”  He ordered and both agents nodded.  He spent the next twenty minutes filling them in on the fiasco still playing out in the conference room at the end of the hall.

 

 

Skye, Melinda and the kids all returned to the room within minutes of each other.  The large crib was wheeled in and put back in place first.  Two nurses secured the new IV pole and infuser, then attached leads to the small connectors adhered to the little girl’s now bare chest.  Her casted arm was now braced across her chest keeping it totally immobile.  Phil grimaced at the challenge that would be since the heavy thing would more than likely immobilize the little girl as well.  The opposite arm held the IV line.  That limb, once free to allow her a bit of movement, was now encased in gauze that held it straight on a small board.  One of the nurses noticed his pained look.

 

“We’ll probably remove this as soon as the doctor reviews the tests and sees her.  I bet by supper she’ll be IV-free.”  The girl smiled and patted Phil’s arm in support.

 

Once again, monitors beeped and the infuser whirred in the small room. 

 

“We couldn’t redress her with all the wires, the cast and the brace,” the other nurse explained.  “We did change her downstairs, so she should be good for a while.”  She pulled a light blanket over the little girl and secured the crib side in position.  “It shouldn’t be long.”  She assured Phil as she left the room.

 

Yoyo stepped to the side of the crib.  “Dios mio, Dulce Madre de Jesús protege a este bebé y ayuda a hacerla bien.” The woman prayed silently then reached through the bars to rub her fingers on the little girl’s shoulder.  She turned from the crib and covered the small gold cross at her neck with one hand then growled. “Ese maldito monstruo, que arda en el infierno por toda la eternidad.”  She made a spitting motion toward the floor.

 

Phil turned his head and laughed at the paradox of her sentiments.  It wasn’t really funny, because he felt the same way, but he needed to laugh or he would certainly be reduced to tears.

 

Melinda entered at the moment, she smiled at the sound of her husband’s laughter.  “What’s so f…”  She didn’t finish her sentence having noticed the crib back in the room just as the familiar sounds of the medical machines filtered through to her.  She was next to it in less than three strides, her hand pressed to her mouth and Phil at her side before she could ask.

 

“She’s okay, really Mel, she is.”  He assured her, rubbing his hands up and down on her arms as he stood behind her.  “The nurses said it’s just until the doctor reviews the tests, then everything comes off.”  She had already flipped off the sling and was lowering the crib side.  Phil grabbed it from her.  “Mel, please, you don’t want to rip out those stitches again.”  He spoke quietly, taking the sling from Yoyo and holding it out to her.

 

Melinda slapped it away.  “To hell with the stitches, Phil.”  She spoke through her teeth.  “What I want to rip out is that Radcliffe kid’s throat!”  Her voice was solid ice.  “I don’t care that he’s a kid,” she added at the look he gave her.  “He deserves it and so does his racist father.”  She closed her eyes and breathed slowly through her nose, exhaling just as slowly through her teeth then turned back to her baby who she could not take into her arms.  She gently caressed the little girl’s forehead, brushing her damp hair away from her face and leaned in to kiss her warm cheek.

 

Phil picked up the sling and carefully placed it over his wife’s head then gently helped her place her injured arm inside.  He wrapped an arm around her and stood watching their little girl sleep.

 

“She’s warm, Phil, too warm.”  She sighed.

 

“The doctor will be in very soon.”  He assured her.

 

“Mama!”

 

“Maw!”

 

Two familiar voices shrieked as one.  Skye’s entire body jerked with the sound.  Melinda and Phil turned and also spoke together, shushing their middle children.  Jemma wrapped her arms around Melinda’s waist.  ‘Mama’ May mouthed to her husband.  Fitz joined her careful not to press against the sling Melinda now wore.

 

‘It’s new,’ he mouthed back.  She raised her eyebrows and nodded.

 

“You’re hurt.”  Jemma remarked, gently placing her hand on the fingers of Melinda’s injured arm.

 

“Little bit,” Melinda assured her, holding the fingers of her other hand about an inch apart.

 

Fitz stepped back and scratched his head.  “Looks bloody hell worse than a little bit!”  He stated with eyes wide.

 

Melinda reached out and pulled him into a hug, placing a gentle swat on his backside.  “This arm still works quite well, little man.”  She playfully warned him.

 

The boy chuckled into his mother’s chest then stood back and wagged his whole body side to side.  “I was just checking to be sure ya had no brain damage.”  He laughed again as Melinda pulled him back and kissed the top of his head.

 

“Did they suture your arm?”  Jemma asked with genuine concern and sincere interest.

 

Melinda nodded and held up two fingers.  “Twice.” 

 

Jemma gasped.  Fitz groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead.  “Here we go again with the bl…” he glanced at Melinda’s one raised eyebrow and smiled, “the bloomin’ sutures.”  Melinda nodded her approval.

 

Jemma gasped a second time, covering her mouth with both hands.  “Skye,” she whispered before the tears began streaming over her cheeks.  “Oh, Skye.”  She moved to the side of the crib and stood next to Yoyo.  “Can I touch her?”  The woman nodded.  Skye had kicked off the light blanket and lay now clad only in the diaper that covered her.  Jemma slowly reached out and ran her hand gently on her little sister’s leg.

 

“She is just sleeping, mommi.  The doctors gave her a little something to help her to be calm.”  Yoyo explained.

 

“Entiendo,” Jemma whispered, practicing her Spanish vocabulary.  “Wǒ míngbái,” she nodded toward Melinda, letting her know that she had not forgotten Mandarin. 

 

Fitz stepped next to his sister and shook his head woefully.  “Y está nuevamente desnuda.” He sighed.  “And I’m not saying it in Chinese.”

 

Jemma slapped his arm lightly.  “She is not naked, Fitz!”

 

Fitz stared for a moment and shook his head again.  “Well, most of her is…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the comments and support and IDEAS. So many people suggest situations and paths to follow. I try to use what I can and believe it or not, I;m already on some of the same channels. So thank you so much for your interest and for taking the time to comment.


	33. Leaving the Monsters Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye recovers and Mrs. Radcliffe brings the truth to the table

The additional tests the doctor had ordered showed Skye had suffered no further injuries.  She could not speak to any emotional damage and strongly suggested a session with a child counselor.  The Coulsons agreed to consider it. 

 

The little girl spent two more days in the pediatric ward with a fever that would not break.  The doctor explained that it could have been caused by the break but that the antibiotics the child was receiving would fight infection.  They would watch it closely.  By the second evening, Skye’s discomfort had her restless and cranky.  The fever spiked at 103º, caused by a double ear infection.  Melinda fretted over not being able to hold her baby until one of the more experienced nurses transferred all of the IV equipment and monitor leads from next to the bed to the large rocker and placed the whimpering little girl in her mother’s arms.  They spent the night, cuddling in the rocker, each comforted by the other’s closeness.  Twenty-four hours later Skye was free of all wires and tubes, clad in her own PJ’s that Daddy had brought from home.  She said goodbye to the dreaded hospital diaper smiling up at him and hugging the new package of panties decorated with blue and yellow bunnies.

 

“Mama, I no like-a dis sleaf no more.”  Skye shook her head as she stepped into her new panties, holding on to Melinda’s shoulder to keep her balance. 

 

“I know, bao bao, but it’s helping to make your arm better.  You have to keep it for a while longer.” May kissed her forehead before sitting her down on the edge of the dropped side crib.

 

“How I wear a short, Mama?”  The little girl tilted her head to one side and motioned with her palm turned up.  Her little feet swung back and forth high above the floor as she waited for her mother’s explanation.  “I need clozus, Mama.  I no wan Mack a see my unnerwears.”  She knitted her brows and pointed to the only item of clothing she presently wore.

 

Melinda bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing at the little girl’s antics.  “Well, I’ve got a secret,” she whispered as she reached around Skye’s tiny body and released the snap that kept the brace secured around her small chest.

 

Skye’s eyes grew wide and her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’.  “Dis bracelet comes out?”  She watched as May removed the harness and pressed a finger to her lips, indicating that Skye should be quiet.

 

“We won’t tell anyone.” Melinda whispered.  “And we’ll only take it off when we get dressed.”  She pulled an oversized T-shirt from the bag Phil had brought from home and gently guided the cast-covered arm through the sleeve before slipping it over Skye’s head and her other arm then reattached the brace to keep her child’s arm secure.  “Now,” Melinda placed her hands on Skye’s thighs stilling her still swinging feet.  “Do you need to use the bathroom before we finish getting dressed?”

 

Skye narrowed her eyes and scrunched up her nose until her eyes squeezed shut.  Melinda leaned forward and rested her forehead against her baby’s.  “Mama,” Skye pulled back and looked into her mother’s eyes with a very serious expression.  “How I take a baff?”

 

Melinda scooped her off the bed and headed for the lavatory.  “We’ll worry about that when we have to take a bath.  Okay?”  She tapped the tip of the little girl’s nose then turned and pushed the bathroom door open with her backside.

 

 

A week later, the Coulsons sat with Skye outside the small hearing room in the Department of Social Services.  Sister Mary Claire sat next to them, waiting to give her statement to the Director of Children and Youth.  She spoke quietly to the little girl who remained on her mother’s lap.

 

Dr. Stephens smiled as she exited the room and stopped to speak with the Coulsons before she had to hurry back to her patients. 

 

Jade Johnson stuck to her story, adamantly denying any knowledge of Skye’s injuries or the facts of what had happened in the Radcliffe’s home that morning.  She and an equally pinched-faced woman who no doubt was her lawyer, stormed past the group seated on the long bench without making eye contact.  Skye pulled back against Melinda and shuddered as the woman went by in a huff.

 

“Coulson?”  A short bespectacled woman stuck just her head out of the door then looked up and down the long hallway waiting for the person who matched the name to stand and approach her.

 

Phil stood and reached to take Skye from Melinda’s lap.  The little girl was a lot heavier with the large cast and Melinda favored her still healing arm.  Skye turned away from the woman as she and her father approached the door, pressing her face into her father’s neck, her favorite refuge.  Melinda walked next to them, holding tightly to Skye’s outstretched hand.  The clerk nodded as they entered and directed them to the chairs at the large table that seemed to take up most of the room.

 

A tall dark skinned man rose from the chair at the head of the table.  He extended his hand toward Phil.  “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Coulson.”  He shook Phil’s hand firmly.  “I’m Walter Kobecki.  I’ll be hearing your statement today.”  He motioned for them to sit as he did.  “I’d like to thank you for bringing Skye today and of course, thank you, Skye for coming to talk to me.”  

 

Skye still held tightly to her father, refusing to look at the man as he continued to speak to her parents, explaining that he would be recording their conversation as well as having his clerk keep a written record.  He introduced the woman who politely greeted them.

 

Phil whispered in Skye’s ear before gently sitting the little girl in Melinda’s lap.  She leaned back resting her head against her mother’s chest and immediately put her thumb in her mouth.  Melinda gently removed it, holding the little hand in her own.

 

“That’s a very pretty pink cast you have, Skye.”  The man smiled at her.  He reminded her of Mack but he was much smaller and had a lot more hair.  He looked like Trip too, but a lot younger and he had a mustache that made her think of a caterpillar.  She smiled and nodded at him.  “Does your arm hurt you, Skye?”  He asked.  She shook her head.  The man smiled back and tapped his pencil on the table.

 

“Can you tell me what happened to your arm, Skye?”

 

She looked up at Melinda, who nodded and motioned for her to address the man asking the questions.

 

“I go home wit Mama and Daddy.” She stated matter-of-factly.

 

The man smiled even wider.  “Yes, you will, Skye.  Just as soon as we’re finished talking,” he waited a few moments before continuing.  “So, can you tell me what happened?”

 

Skye pressed harder into Melinda and tilted her head so it rested on her own shoulder.  “The bad boy hoert me.” She whispered without looking up.

 

“Can you tell me a little louder, Skye?”  The man was still smiling.  “My ears are a little old and sometimes little girls’ voices don’t reach all the way to them.”

 

At that, Skye smiled and let go of a tiny laugh.  She took a big breath and squeezed the fingers on her mother’s hand.  “The bad boy hoert me.”  She repeated clearly.  “Him squishted my orms like a last time.  It hoert moer.”

 

“Okay, Skye, let’s just talk about this time when the boy hurt you.”  Kobecki smiled at her.

 

“He a bad boy.” She shook her head.  “He throwed the baptist ball at me.  Him say he moosh my head.”  She pressed her palm to her forehead pushing herself back into May’s chest.  Even the clerk snickered at Skye’s term for ‘basket ball’.

 

“Do you know this boy’s name?”  The man asked.

 

Skye shook her head.  “He just a bad boy.  I no like his house.  He hoert my arms alla time.  He make a peeo on my faze.”

 

Kobecki looked from Phil to Melinda, silently asking for a translation.  Both shook their heads not knowing what their child was trying to tell him.

 

A young man in shirt-sleeves with his tie loose on his neck quickly entered the room and whispered close to Mr. Kobecki’s ear.  The man nodded with a surprised look on his face.  He flicked off his recording device and asked the clerk to stop taking notes.  He addressed Phil and Melinda.  “There is someone who would like to speak with you or rather to all of us, with your permission.”  He informed them then waited for their answer. 

 

Phil and Melinda looked at each other then back to Kobecki.  “Anything that will help expedite this situation.”  Phil agreed.

 

Kobecki nodded to the young man who stood with his hand on the doorknob.  He pulled it open admitting the last two people the Coulsons expected to see.

 

Evangeline Radcliffe stepped into the room holding tightly to her son, Malcolm’s hand.  The woman looked haggard, a far cry from the person who stood crying on the Coulson’s front yard a little over two weeks ago.  Her well coiffed hair now hung limp around her shoulders and the lack of make-up allowed the deep built up stress lines to show.  Even the clothing she wore seemed to hang loosely on her body.   She forced a smile as she looked from person to person in the room.

 

The young boy, she clung to, stood silently staring at the floor.  She had apparently taken him from school as he wore the easily recognizable khaki pants and white golf shirt that screamed school uniform.  His longish dark hair fell forward but not enough to cover the large bruise below his eye and a mark that suspiciously resembled a handprint covered his forearm just above his wrist.

 

Kobecki rose and approached the woman.  They spoke silently, his back to the Coulsons, effectively blocking their view of the woman and her son.  He took her hand and held it between both of his longer that usual for a simple handshake.  He nodded a few times and she nodded back, then shook her head and nodded again before he turned to address the small group in the room.  He gently guided the apprehensive woman to the table and pulled out a chair, motioning for her to be seated.

 

“I don’t believe you know, Mrs. Radcliffe.” Kobecki addressed the Coulsons.

 

Melinda tensed, causing the little girl on her lap to jump a bit and turn quickly, looking into her mother’s eyes for reassurance.  She gave Skye a tiny smile and held her a little tighter.  Phil shifted in his chair, vividly recalling the woman who stood behind the vulgar creep he’d decked on his lawn that horrible day.  He nodded toward the woman, showing no emotion.

 

Mrs. Radcliffe smiled meekly and pulled Malcolm onto the chair next to hers.  He sat away from the table, his head still down staring at his hands that lay loosely in his lap.  Kobecki moved back to his seat and announced that for now this conversation would be off the record and that the clerk was excused.  The small woman collected her tools, stood and exited through a door in the back of the room.  Kobecki reminded her that she would still be needed and that he would summon her when she was.  The woman nodded and closed the door behind her.

 

Kobecki turned his attention to the people seated around the table.  He took a short breath and tapped his pen on the table again.  Melinda recognized the coping mechanism.  “Let me start by letting the Coulsons know that I was not aware you would be here today.”  He said to Evangeline.  She nodded.  “I also want to let you know,” he turned to Phil and Melinda, “that I have spoken to Mrs. Radcliffe prior to today and that I have taken her statement regarding this conversation privately.”  He waited for a reaction that did not come.  “Please understand, Mr. and Mrs. Coulson, that you have the right to refuse to participate in any conversation with Mrs. Radcliffe and that it is also your right to remove Skye from the room at any time.”  Phil glanced at Melinda and silently agreed with one curt nod toward the director.

 

The man nodded back.  “Mrs. Radcliffe, you and your son have the same rights.  Know that you can change your mind at anytime and we will stop this even though it is at your request that we share this information.  Do you understand?”  She closed her eyes and nodded slowly.  Finally, he addressed the young boy who tried to make himself invisible.  “Malcolm, you are old enough to understand the proceedings here.  If at anytime you wish to stop, you will need to inform me.  Do you understand?”  The boy did not respond, but shuffled his feet and squirmed back further into his chair.

 

Evangeline spoke.  “He understands.  We both do.  We need to do this…for them,” she nodded toward the Coulson family, then reached to grasp her son’s hand, “and so do we.”  Her last statement was a choked whisper.

 

Melinda listened quietly, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart echoing through her head.  The mere mention of the name ‘Radcliffe’ was like fingernails…no like rusty screws scraping across a blackboard.  She grit her teeth so firmly that the bones below her eyes stung with the pressure.  Skye pressed her body back against her mother, staring blankly at the woman she did not recognize but made her feel uncomfortable.  She could feel her mother’s tension and allowed her thumb to find its way back to touch her lips.  She waited for Melinda to pull it away then watched as her mother’s knuckles turned white gripping the wooden arm of the chair.

 

Phil turned sideways in his seat, giving him a clear view of the woman and her son.  His knee bumped Melinda’s giving both of them strength in the slight physical contact.  He dropped one hand below the edge of the table and grasped the toe of Skye’s small shoe.  The little girl’s eyes went to her father’s hand and she bounced that foot gently back and forth.  He drummed his fingers on the table.

 

Kobecki broke the silence that filled the room.  “Mrs. Radcliffe would you like to start?”

 

Evangeline nodded and cleared her throat demurely.  “Please understand that I know there is no amount of apology I can offer that will ever be enough to make up for this.”  Her voice cracked as she addressed the Coulsons, making eye contact only with Phil.  It was as if she could not force herself to look at Melinda or Skye.  “I cannot even begin to imagine the kind of pain my…”  She put her hand to her mouth and swallowed a sob, “my s-son put you through.”

 

“Your son needs help.” Phil spoke quietly, masking the animosity in his voice.

 

For a moment, the woman at the end of the table was silent, staring into the space where the wall met the ceiling.  She bit back a sob and replied, “He does…and…” she looked at the boy seated next to her.   “I should have done something, but he’s my son.”  She managed to pull a Kleenex from her purse before completely breaking down.

 

“Do you need a moment?”  Kobecki asked with compassion that Melinda did not share.

 

In fact, she had no sympathy at all for this woman.  Her lack of discipline, or concern or whatever it might be called, for her own son had put her children in danger.  If Trip had not intervened when he did, Skye could have been seriously injured…or worse.  She refused to think of what could have happened.  The look in that crazed kid’s eyes as he slashed at her with the knife that came from nowhere burned in the back of her mind.  Would he have taken that blade to her baby or was he simply defending himself by that point?  She closed her eyes.  Nothing this woman said would reach far enough into her heart to make her feel one bit of empathy toward her, her son or the Radcliffe family.

 

Evangeline swallowed hard, “no…no, I need to finish this.”  She seemed to get a second wind and seemed stronger.  She turned toward Phil and Melinda.  “Harris is damaged…too much a part of his father.  I know that now…no, I’ve always known and I was too much of a coward to do anything about it.”  She spat out the last words.  “I put Malcolm in danger and almost cost you that little girl.”  She grabbed Malcolm’s hand and nodded toward Skye.

 

“I am so sorry, honey,” Mrs. Radcliffe addressed Skye, scooting to the edge of her chair and causing the little girl to pull back and reach out a hand to her father.  “I didn’t know he was hurting you, sweetheart.  I really didn’t…not until Malcolm…”  She took a deep breath and brought her son’s hand to her lips, kissing it softly.  She reached out and brushed the hair away from his face.  “I thought she was safe when they took her back.  I never thought he would find her…never.”  Her voice faded to a whisper.

 

Malcolm brought one fisted hand to the tabletop and slowly opened it allowing a large black button to drop on to the surface and wobble a bit before laying flat.  It was about the size of a quarter and Melinda immediately recognized it, but it was Skye who spoke.

 

“You gotz Salty’s eye!”  She smiled at the item, dropping her thumb to tabletop.  The little girl squirmed to reach it.

 

“I kept it for you.”  Malcolm’s soft voice replied as the sullen boy attempted a small smile.  “I’m sorry I pulled it off.”

 

“You no mean to hoert Salty.  He not mad.”  Skye shook her head.  “Salty likes you, Mackum.”

Phil opened his mouth to speak but Kobecki held up a hand, motioning for him and the other adults in the room to listen as the children spoke.  Perhaps their version was the purest.

 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, Mary Sue.”  Malcolm shook his head, bit his bottom lip and for a moment looked away.

 

Skye shook her head.  “I Skye, Mackum.  Member?”

 

Malcolm smiled a watery smile and nodded.  “My brother,” he now addressed Kobecki, “tried to hurt her.  I don’t know why…he just wanted to make her cry.  He wanted to make her go away.”

 

Evangeline squeezed his hand as Melinda sat up straighter, the anger etched in her glare.  “It’s okay, sweetheart.  Go on, tell them what you told me.”

 

The boy drew a shaky breath.  “I didn’t know until that night.  I didn’t know he was going in her room at night…” he dropped his head and mumbled, “I just knew he wasn’t coming in mine.”

 

Phil rubbed a hand across his face and drummed his fingers on the desk doing all he could to control his building anger.  He spoke through his teeth, but managed to control his voice.  “Son, what was your brother doing in Skye’s room?”  Horrendous scenes played out in Phil’s head, none of which he would ever share with his wife, but if any were true it would not matter that Harris Radcliffe was sixteen years old.

 

“Harris likes to make you afraid.”  Malcolm answered, the fear showing in his tone.  “He’d find what scared you and use it to make you afraid all the time.  Lots of stuff scared Ma…Skye.”  He shook his head.  “He banged on her door and scratched on the floor, just to hear her cry.”

 

Melinda’s hand pulled into a tight fist.  Phil placed a hand over it, massaging gently.  Skye struggled to turn into her mother, to hide her face.

 

“It wasn’t enough for Harris, though.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “I guess she didn’t cry loud enough or something because he…put a pillow over her face and held her down.”

 

Melinda could not contain the gasp.  If Skye’s arm was not wrapped around her neck, if the little girl’s body wasn’t glued to her, she would have jumped from her seat.  But this was not the boy she wanted to throttle.  This skinny kid with a large bruise on his face was just as much a victim as her baby. 

 

“How could you not know?”  Melinda spat at the other mother in the room.  “How could you not know what that monster was doing?”  Phil put a hand on her shoulder hoping to keep her calm.

 

Evangeline shook her head, tears streaming across her cheeks.  She had no words to explain her failures, no excuses for the lack of attention she shared with her children.  She was just as guilty as her twisted son, but she would do whatever she had to do to save the other.  It couldn’t be too late to show that she could be his mother.

 

Kobecki cleared his throat, “Please, Mrs. Coulson, let the boy finish.”

 

Melinda took a deep breath and gave the man a curt nod.  She grasped Phil’s hand, held it tightly and gently rubbed Skye’s back with the other.  She shushed the child and whispered in her ear keeping her calm.  Her injured arm was still sore, but the stitches had been removed and the bandage was smaller.

 

Malcolm looked from one adult to the other and off Kobecki’s nod, he continued.  “He did it every night.  I didn’t know what to do.”

 

“Did you tell your parents?”  Phil asked, watching his own fingers tap on the tabletop.

 

Malcolm shook his head.

 

“Because they didn’t care,” he sighed as he looked away from the boy.

 

“No, sir,” Malcolm corrected with respect.  “I didn’t tell cuz I knew what he’d do to me.”  He finished quietly.  “Harris likes to hurt people.”

 

Kobecki interrupted.  “Malcolm tell us about the night Mrs. Johnson took Skye out of your home.”

 

Malcolm nodded.   “I heard him, Harris, go into her room.  She was already crying.  I…I…had to do something.  I followed him and he was on top of her…holding the pillow on her.  He was laughing and…and calling her names and telling her to scream louder.  Her feet were kicking.  I screamed and he jumped.”  Malcolm laughed a scared laugh and looked up for the first time.  “I guess _I_ scared _him_.”

 

Melinda ignored the tears that ran across her cheeks as she kissed the Skye’s head.  Phil moved his chair closer to her and wrapped an arm around the both of them.  Both envisioned the pain they could bring on Harris Radcliffe.

 

“ _I_ had the bat, not her, _I_ did.”  He spoke a bit louder.  “I swung it at him and told him to leave her alone.  He just laughed, but he got off her.  She was still crying.  He grabbed the bat off me and swung it at me.  That’s when Skye tried to run to the door, but he caught her and squeezed her so tight that she screamed.  I tried to pull her away from him but I grabbed the rabbit.  That’s when I pulled its eye off.”  He pointed at the black button that had been staring up from the table.  He looked at it for a moment, lost in the memory he was reliving.  “He tried to hold on to her but she bit his arm until there was blood everywhere and he dropped her and kicked her and grabbed the bat again.”  The boy became agitated.  “I thought he would kill her.  He slammed the bat into anything he could hit, but she got under the bed and he came after me.  I ran in the hall and my…my father was coming.  I saw Harris throw the bat and fall down on the floor.”  He took a deep breath and shook his head.  “My father believed everything Harris said…he always does.”

 

“They released Harris to us after the incident at the Coulson’s home.  We thought it would be for the best.”  Evangeline continued.  “Hayden…he was so angry…said he would have that black boy in jail…” She shook with the memory.  “I found Harris beating his brother the next day.  Malcolm said he tried to hurt Skye before and Harris just snapped.”  She sobbed deeply.  “I can’t believe I had to call the authorities on my own son.  I cannot believe the hate that came from him or the threats he made to both of us.”

 

Melinda could not find any room in her heart to form sympathy for this woman.  How could she not have heard Skye scream?  How could she not see what was happening in her own home?  And how could she come here and expect her and Phil to forgive or excuse any of this?  She tried to hide her shudder from the child in her lap, but Skye felt it and gripped her mother tighter.

 

“Mrs. Radcliffe wants you to know that there will be no trial.  Skye and Antoine will not have to testify or relive that day.  She wants to spare them, and all of your family, that.”  Kobecki informed Phil and Melinda.

 

“Harris has plead guilty to all charges.”  Evangeline explained as she wiped her eyes and attempted to contain herself.   “They’re transferring him to a place where he can get help.”  She shook her head, ashamed to say that she already knew he was beyond help, “or at least somewhere he cannot hurt anyone.”  The woman drew a cleansing breath and stood.  “You’ll not hear from us again.  Malcolm and I are returning to my family’s home in Houston, but I thank you for letting him tell you what he did.  He felt you needed to know what really happened.”  She reached down and took the boy’s hand as he stood.  “Maybe it isn’t too late for him.”

 

Phil stood and stepped around the table to the boy and his mother.  He offered his hand to Malcolm.  The boy took it and shook it limply.  “Thank you, son, I know it took a lot for you to come here and talk to us.”  The boy shrugged his shoulders and shifted from one foot to the other.  “You tried son, and that was all you could do.  Thank you for trying to help our girl.”

 

Malcolm smiled as a flush overtook his pale complexion.  He almost smiled and still holding Phil’s hand, shook it with a bit more strength. 

 

Phil watched as the two quietly left the room and waited for the door to close before turning to his wife.  He picked up the large button from the table, smiled at Melinda and slipped it into his pocket. 

 

The monsters were gone for good.  It was time Salty had two eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was unsure of this chapter....please let me know what you think.


	34. When Fates Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salty gets his eye back  
> Phil tells Melinda about Grant  
> Dark forces come together

 

“What do you think?”  Melinda smiled as she turned the large floppy bunny around and wiggled its head at Skye.

 

The little girl reached out with her free arm and took the toy, clutching it to her chest.  “Salty, you gotz you two eyes on you!”  She kissed the bunny’s face and hugged it tightly.  “Him is owl better, Mama.  Salty is owl happy.”  Skye smiled a smile brighter than Melinda could remember as she climbed up onto her lap and attempted a one armed hug.  “I show Zemma and Fizz!”  She slid to the floor and ran toward the family room bellowing her siblings’ names as she went.

 

“She seems to be doing okay.” Bobbie nodded as she leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her chest. 

 

Melinda rose from her chair and tucked the small sewing kit she had used into what was affectionately called the ‘junk drawer’ and let out a small sigh.  “Yes, she does.”  She turned toward Bobbi and motioned to the teakettle on the table.  Bobbie shook her head but pulled out a chair and joined her friend.  Melinda poured a cup of tea.  “Still has nightmares,” she shook her head and frowned, “I guess it will take a while to get past everything, but we do talk about it…tell her that she is safe and that Harris cannot hurt her.”

 

Bobbie raised her brows and pulled her lips together.  “Do you think she believes you?”

 

Melinda stopped with her cup halfway to her lips, thinking it was an odd question, yet what about the situation wasn’t odd.  “We’ll just keep telling her until she does.”  She assured her friend.

 

“How are _you_ doing?”  Bobbie turned her attention to the woman sitting across from her.

 

Melinda smiled over her cup, took a sip, swallowed and set it back on its saucer.  The Coulsons had attended the formal hearing for Harris Radcliffe’s allocution.  The boy did plead guilty to all counts, despite the protests of his father who eventually had to be removed from the courtroom.

 

Harris spent a great deal of time recounting what he had done to his brother as well as to Skye, both in his home and on that afternoon in the basketball court.  The Coulsons were forced to listen to the atrocities the cruel young man had put their tiny daughter through not once but twice.  This time it was much worse.  Harris seemed to find pleasure in reliving his deeds and showed no remorse for any.  The judge had heard the malice in the boy’s testimony as well.  His sentencing was quick and harsh, ignoring the protests of Radcliffe’s high priced lawyer.

 

Harris Radcliffe was sent to a facility in New England where he would be evaluated and remain in custody until the judge considered him no longer a danger to _anyone_.  The assistant district attorney had fought for the boy to be placed as far away from the Coulson family as possible.  No amount of objections could move the magistrate to change his mind.  Phil did not miss the malevolent glare the boy cast toward him as he was lead from the courtroom.

 

“I think,” Melinda answered, “we’re survivors.  We’ve been through hell in the last few months. Hopefully we’ve seen the last of it.”

 

“I hope so,” Bobbi shook her head and took a moment before continuing.  “There’s still that mess in London.”  She remarked, careful not to let Melinda know the status of that case.

 

“How ‘bout we don’t think about that today.”  Melinda suggested, taking another sip of tea. 

 

“Works for me,” Bobbie chuckled.  “So, what happened with the stone cold social worker?”

 

“She has been relieved of her position.”  Melinda said with mock professional speak.  “They really couldn’t prove what she knew and didn’t know and she denied it all, but she should have suspected. She is a mandated reporter.  She did nothing to protect Skye and never reported any of her injuries to her superiors or to ChildLine.  That law she did break and from what I understand that they are now investigating all of her cases. From what Sr. Mary Claire told us, she did not take it well.”

 

Now, Bobbi laughed.  “I’d like to show her some alternate lines myself.” 

 

Melinda nodded as she set her cup down and stared down the hallway.  “You know, it’s awfully quiet in that play room…probably not a good sign.”  She smiled at Bobbi as they both stood and made their way to investigate.

 

 

 

Mack and Hunter stood outside Phil’s office debating on the best method to share the information they had gathered on a certain fugitive.  None of it was good and all of it would certainly send their boss over the edge that he was pretty close to already.  Finally, they just gave the door a short rap and pushed it open.

 

Phil set down the form he was reviewing and removed his glasses.  “Well, come in,” he remarked with a sarcastic sigh.  He immediately recognized the looks of apprehension on both men.  “I guess it’s not good news, then, is it?” 

 

Mack swallowed hard and rubbed his hands together.  Hunter shook his head as he glanced toward the floor and slid one foot to and fro in front of the other.

 

Phil narrowed his lips and gave a quick nod.  “Yep, bad news it is.  Okay.”  He stood and clapped his hands together then rubbed them quickly before dropping them to his sides.  “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

 

“It’s Grant.”  Mack stated calmly.  “We lost him.”

 

“Not one agency has sighted the jerk in more than three days.”  Hunter added, still refusing to meet Phil’s gaze.

 

“He’s right.  We’ve been watching the LEO’s, FBI and Interpol.  They’ve lost track as well.”

 

“The last place he was seen was just outside of Alexandria, we think he might be holing up there, but so far…nothing.”  Mack sounded apologetic.

 

Phil walked away from the pair and stood looking out the large window that faced downtown.  “Grant’s a low-life, street punk not some high stakes criminal mastermind.  He’s a thug…a bully.  He doesn’t have the means or the intelligence to outsmart these agencies.”  He turned back to his team.  “So…”

 

“He’s working with someone…”   Mack finished the sentence.

 

“Or he’s up to more than we suspect.”  Hunter added lifting his head and punching his fist into his opposite palm.  Mack rolled his eyes.

 

“It’s hard to believe he’d go through all of this to get to…” Phil swallowed hard, “to get to Fitz.”

 

“The lad has nothing on the creep,” Hunter shook his head.  “Well, there was that incident in the garden, but that would involve bo…”  He stopped suddenly as Mack jabbed him with his elbow and silenced him with a glare.

 

Phil closed his eyes and nodded.  “Right, he’d be after Fitz _and_ Jemma.”

 

All three men remained silent, each staring toward a separate place in the room until Phil spoke.  “I want him found, no excuses.”  He spoke with authority.  “You have one job and it’s to find him before he gets any closer to my family.  Is that understood?”  Both men nodded.  “Is that understood?”  Phil repeated with more force.

 

“Yes, sir!” Mack and Hunter barked back.

 

Phil picked up his car keys from the desk and started toward the door.  “Move, gentlemen!  Take whomever and whatever you need.”

 

“May I ask where you’re going, sir?”  Hunter inquired as he and Mack scrambled for the door.

 

Phil let out a long breath and stepped aside to allow both men to exit before he did.  “I’m going home.  It’s time Melinda knew what was going on and I want to tell her in person.”

 

 

 

Phil walked into his home amazed to hear silence.  It wasn’t something he walked into as a rule and the sound of it was disturbing.  It almost made him cringe.  He passed the family room and glanced in as he did.  It was cluttered with various toys and books, as usual, but there wasn’t a kid to be seen.  The dining room and parlor were also empty as was the kitchen, although Melinda’s favorite teacup was on the table.  Oddly enough, Salty the stuffed bunny sat on Skye’s booster chair, flopped over to one side but staring blankly up at him with two eyes.

 

“Hey, old man,” Phil greeted the now familiar toy.  “Lookin’ good,” he gave it a thumb’s up sign.  “So where’s the crew?”  He knew Melinda and the younger kids were at home.  He also knew that Bobbi was with them.  Yoyo had accompanied Trip to spend the day with his grandmother.  He had made it a point to have one of his security team with his family at all times, although Trip just figured Yoyo was with him because his ‘dad’ couldn’t be.  Bobbi and Hunter had moved into the guest room under the guise that it was cheaper than the cost of a hotel room for the time they were there. 

 

Phil dropped his keys on the counter and pulled open the back door.  He stepped out onto the patio.  Melinda’s black SUV and Bobbi’s rental were parked side by side in the driveway.  He stood for a moment listening to a familiar sound.  It was the cheenk of a basketball on blacktop.  He’d recognize it anywhere.  It made sense that they would be there.  Melinda made it a point to take Skye to the court as often as possible and at least once a day.  Keeping her away would only feed into a growing fear.  They had made sure the little girl held the basketball and watched her brothers play.  Melinda would not let this become something else that would contribute to the little girl’s nightmares.  As he walked around the garage, he finally heard the sound of his family’s voices.

 

“You gotsa throw it bigger, Fizz.”  Skye’s voice was laced with giggles.  “You no do it like, Frip.”

 

The ball bounced a few more times.  “Well, he is a bit taller than me.”  Fitz answered between deep breaths.

 

“Muggsey Bogues was only five foot three and he was an exceptional passer, a great ball-stealer, and one of the fastest players on the court.”  Jemma chirped.

 

“How would you know?”  Fitz groaned, holding the ball under one arm.

 

“I read it, of course.”  Jemma smirked at her brother.  Fitz rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, earning a warning from Melinda and a stifled chuckle from Bobbi.

 

“Guess that makes me a giant!” Phil announced as he stepped onto the court and held out his hands for the ball.  Fitz bounced it to him then watched as his dad dribbled the ball a few times then tossed it through the air sending it straight through the hoop.  He threw his arms up in victory as Jemma and Fitz ran to him, patting his back and congratulating him.  He scooped both of them up and spun them around once, kissed both their heads and deposited them back on the ground.  Fitz made a dash for the ball then attempted to imitate his father’s shot.

 

He looked to Melinda who Skye on her lap.  The little girl reached out with one hand, wriggling her fingers at him.  “Me too, Daddy, spin me too.”  He pointed to his own chest and turned as if looking for someone behind him.  “Daddy,” Skye scolded.  He stepped to her quickly and held her close to his chest as he spun her around as he had with the others. 

 

“You’re home early, show off.”  Melinda rolled her eyes as he bent to kiss her, with Skye still in his arms.  He cast a glance and quick nod to Bobbi, who nodded back.

 

“I goed the doctor today, Daddy.”  Skye informed him.  She frowned and shook her head.  “Her no take this sleaf ouf.”

 

“At least two more weeks,” Melinda added.

 

Phil stuck out his bottom lip in a silly pout.  “I’m sorry, angel eyes.”  He kissed her forehead.  “But we have to be sure your arm is all better before your sleeve comes off.” 

 

“She also wants to discuss a myringotomy.”  She informed him as she took Skye back into her lap.  “It may help with her speech.”

 

“Daddy there a big spageeto onna door.”  Skye pointed toward the house with wide eyes.  “I no hit him.  Him flewed away.”

 

Phil looked from his wife to his daughter and then back.  “A my ring….spag…what?”  He shrugged his shoulders.

 

“A myringotomy is a surgical procedure in which a tiny incision is created in the tympanic membrane to relieve pressure caused by excessive buildup of fluid, or to drain pus from the middle _ear_. A tympanostomy _tube_ is then inserted into the eardrum to keep the middle _ear_ aerated for a prolonged time and to prevent reaccumulation of fluid.  Although some research says the relief is only temporary…”  Jemma rattled off as she stood next to Melinda.

 

Phil held up a hand.  “Whoa princess, how about you say that again in plain English your old Da can understand.”  Jemma smiled as she crinkled her nose.

 

“They want to stick a little tube in her eardrum so it stays dry.”  Fitz obliged as he joined the group parking half his behind on the arm of Melinda’s lounge chair, still holding the ball under his arm.  “They do it in the hospital and she won’t feel a thing.”  He added at Phil’s look of dread.

 

“It’s a simple procedure, Phil.  Maura gave me some literature.  We’ll talk.”

 

“Daddy, we need spageeto apple ant.”  Skye was obviously having a different conversation.

 

“I’m sorry, angel.  A what?”  Phil turned his attention to her.

 

“A spageeto,” Skye spoke slowly with that little hand turned palm up, bouncing up and down.  “Dem bugs that bite chew and make you owl itchy.”

 

“A mosquito,” Fitz whispered around his hand.  “Mom told her we needed some repellant…get it?  Repellant…apple ant?”  He continued translating for his little sister.

 

Phil’s mouth formed an ‘O’ as he raised his brows and nodded.  “I will get right on that, ma’am.”  He told the little girl.

 

“Daddy, I not ma’am.  I Skye.  Member?”

 

“Always, angel eyes, always.”  He assured her.

 

The twins took the ball back to the court and began arguing over who could shoot the most baskets.  Phil cocked his head toward them suggesting that Bobbi take control.  She nodded her understanding.

 

Melinda looked at him, knowing just by his gaze that something was wrong…that they needed to talk.  “I think it’s time for somebody to take a nap.”  She whispered close to Skye’s ear.

 

“It not me.” Skye shook her head.  “I not tired.”

 

Phil picked up the little girl allowing Melinda to stand.  “I’ll put her down and meet you in the office.”  Phil nodded as she took Skye and walked toward the back door.  Bobbie watched as well then looked back to him. 

 

“You two, don’t break Bobbi.”  She took that as her cue to keep the ‘twins’ busy for as long as it took.  She’d already spoken to Hunter and knew Coulson was home to share the information they had on James Grant.  She also knew it would not be pretty.

 

 

“He’s been here how long?”  May’s voice was too controlled, a sure sign she was simmering.

 

“Mel, it was the day the doctor wanted more tests on Skye and then she was so sick and we…didn’t want…”

 

“Didn’t what?  Didn’t think I needed to know there was another piece of shit threatening my children?  Didn’t think I needed to know they needed round the clock protection.  God, Phil,” she slammed her hand on the table.  “I left them alone for days.  If anything…anything…”

 

“They weren’t alone.  They haven’t been alone.  Bobbi and Hunter have been with them and Mack’s been close to Trip and Yoyo’s stayed close to both you and Skye.”

 

Melinda raised an eyebrow.  “Think about what you’re saying. Phil.”

 

“I pulled Mack and Hunter for another job.  Things are different, there’s been a development.”

 

“What kind of development?”  She stepped closer to him, speaking through her teeth.

 

“They lost him outside of Alexandria.”

 

“Lost him!”  Melinda May actually shouted, then closed her eyes and breathed deeply.  “Lost him?”

 

“I’ve got everyone working on this, Mel.  The local authorities, the FBI and Interpol are in on it as well.”

 

“And no one knows where this bastard is.  Damn it, Phil, he could be outside right now.” 

 

Phil pulled her into a tight hug.  “He’s not, Mel.  He’s nowhere near our home.  If he was we’d know it.”  He spoke softly.

 

“How much more do we have to deal with, Phil?  How much more can we take?”  She rested her head against his chest as he laid his cheek on the top of her head.  “Dear god, Phil, what are we going to tell Fitz?  He’s already having as many nightmares as Skye.”

 

“Yeah, our bed’s getting kind of crowded.”  He smiled at her small laugh against his chest.

 

Melinda looked up at her husband.  “We have to tell him, Phil.  I don’t want him to find out accidentally or because that no good son of a bitch shows up on our door step again.”

 

“That’s not gonna happen, Mel.  I won’t let it.”  He squeezed her tight and kissed her forehead.  They stepped away from each other as Fitz rushed in the door and past them on his way to the hall lavatory.

 

 

Jamie Grant sat in what one might call a ‘hole in the wall’ bar with bad lighting and even worse music.  The clientele matched the atmosphere, but he could blend in here.  No one would think him out of place or recognize him as a ‘foreigner’.  He liked the dark corners, the shitty lighting provided and the booze was cheap.  He held up a finger and the overweight waitress nodded her understanding.  A few minutes later, she dropped a large mug of ‘on tap’ in front of him, spilling more than a swallow on the table and wiping it quickly with a dirty bar rag.  He snarled at her and slapped his money in her hand.  She smiled, or made some attempt at it and walked away.

 

Grant had his eye on the guy at the bar.  He’d been there more than an hour nursing the same drink and mumbling to himself.  If anyone was out of place in this dive, it was that gent.  He was dressed much to fine for a place like this and seemed appalled when the barkeep refused his plastic payment and demanded cash.  Maybe that was the bloke’s deal.  Maybe he had only enough cash for one pint and was making it last as long as possible.  But, even if he had no cash in his wallet, Jamie was sure he could make use of whatever else he could get from the guy so he pushed himself up from his seat and made his way to the bar and dropped onto the stool next to the mark.

 

“You’ve been makin’ friends with that brew for some time, mate.”  Jamie started in his best American accent. 

 

The man scoffed at him and turned away.

 

Grant tapped the bar to get attention.  He held up a finger and then pointed to the man seated next to him.  “I think my friend here could use a fresh one.”  He smiled widely.

 

“I’m not your friend and I don’t need your charity.”  The man growled, pulling his mug closer and staring into it.

 

“Come on, pal,” Jamie slapped a hand on the man’s shoulder.  “It’s got to be flat by now.  You’ve been at it for more than an hour.”  He smiled that smarmy smile again. 

 

The man shook off Grant’s hand.  “I’m warning you,” he pushed himself off the stool and stood, wobbling a bit on his feet.

 

‘Maybe he’s had more than one, then.’  Grant thought, smiling to himself.  ‘Makes things a lot easier.’  “Sorry, pal, just looked like you needed a friend.”  He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.  “What she do then, run off with her boss?”

 

“Huh?”  The man looked confused. “What…no…just leave me alone…I just want to be alone.”

 

Grant stood and slowly approached the man.  “I bet yer just saying that.  Nobody really wants to be alone at a time like this.”  He stepped next to him and slowly reached his arm around the man’s shoulder.  “Why don’t you come sit at my table…we could talk or…we could just share a couple drinks and sort this all out.”  As he spoke, he led the man to the dark corner and pushed him into the seat against the wall then hurried back to collect the drinks the bartender had placed there for him.  He sat down quickly and pushed the mug toward the man then lifted his in a mock toast and took a long drink then wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his sleeve.  The man grimaced as if he’d be sick.

 

“I have to go.”  He groaned as he pushed his drink away and began to stand.

 

“No…no, you need to stay…stay and talk about it, bud…get it all out and you’ll feel a lot better.  Believe me, I’ve been where you are.”  Grant had jumped up and pushed the gentleman back into the chair catching a quick glimpse of the Rolex watch on his wrist and the diamond-studded clip that held his very expensive tie in place. 

 

_‘Probably a hundred percent Italian silk…just like the suit’_ Grant thought.  _‘I have hit the mother load,’_ he told himself.  “Had me some woman trouble a while back as well…yeah she was a real bitch and that kid…geez that brat of hers cause more trouble than he was worth.  I shoulda taken a belt to the little bastard.  That’s what he was then, a little bastard.  She couldn’t even say who the father was, couldn’t even remember.”

 

The man groaned and dropped his head into his hands.  “My boy…” he mumbled into them, then slammed a fist on the table causing Grant and the drinks to jump.  The brew wobbled back and forth in the glass mugs, slipping over the edge on the high tide and splashing onto the table.  “They stole him from me…railroaded him…sullied his name and mine.”  Now he practically roared, raising from his seat and reaching to grab Grant by his collar.

 

Grants hands came up quickly, latching on to the man’s wrists and easing them away from his neck. He slowly lowered the man’s hands to the tabletop and patted the back of one with false compassion. “That is a sad tale, pal.  Someone stole your kid?  No wonder you’re in such a state.  But, I understand you, truly I do cuz even though that little bastard that shared my home was an albatross around my neck,” Grant stopped and shook his head, waiting to be sure the man was listening.  “He was taken from me,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that and with his mother passing and all, the kid had nobody but me…the only father he’d known and they just let him be whisked off without so much as a thank you.”  He sighed deeply, feigning his sorrow.  _He’d take this guy for all he could and then some._

The older man sat staring off at some point or object that Grant could not determine.  For more than a moment, he thought the guy might have fallen into some drunken stupor, which wouldn’t be bad actually.  He could relieve him of his wallet and that watch, whatever else he could find and be gone before anyone was the wiser. 

 

“This will not go unpunished.”  The man suddenly growled through his teeth.  He grabbed the mug of beer from the table and finished it in one long gulp then slammed the glass back down and shouted for the waitress to bring more.  He turned to Grant and leaned across the table, speaking just above a whisper.  “You might be just the guy I came in here looking for,” he smiled with only one side of his mouth.  “Seems you and I have a similar axe to grind.”

 

Now, Grant was confused.  Was this guy propositioning him?  Did he think he was some kind of thug-for-hire?  That might be profitable in itself.  Grant smiled inwardly, but played dumb.  “Sorry, pal, I’m lost here.  I’m pretty sure we’ve never met.”  He pressed his hands against the table’s edge and started to rise.

 

“No, no, no…sit, sit, sit…” the man insisted.  “You’re right, we do need to talk.  I think we might be able to help each other with our recent misfortune.  I think we owe it to our boys.”

 

Grant knit his brows, still not quite seeing what this guy was getting to or why.  Yeah, he’d love to get his hands on that puny brat’s neck and wring it.  Maybe smack that little bitch that kicked him around too.  It really wasn’t hard to find them.  He simply called their Security Firm and made up a story about needing protection for a client.  The fool that answered the phone gave him everything he needed.  He found the office and spent the last week merely watching….the office, the house, the school.  He knew their schedules and had seen the black kid and the little Asian kid with the big cast on her arm.  He hadn’t put the whole puzzle together yet, but he would.

 

“Coulson,” the guy spat and Grant’s head popped up with shock.

 

“What?  Coulson?  Did you say Coulson?”  Jamie almost lost control of masking his accent.

 

“You know him?”  The guy narrowed his eyes as his hands balled into tight fists.

 

“Know him?”  Grant sneered.  “He’s why I’m here.”  He stopped, realizing he might give himself away.  “Here, right here in this place, drinking my sorrows away.  He’s got my boy, stole him and no one did a thing to stop him.”

 

The guy started laughing, not just a quiet snort or a chuckle but a full on guffaw that caused every other patron to stop and cast a glance toward the darkened corner.  He actually whooped and slapped his thigh.  Grant was sure the guy had lost it.  There were actually tears running down his face when he finally was able to bring himself under control.  He waved off the others that stared at him telling them that everything was okay then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face before turning back to Grant.  He waited a few seconds while the atmosphere in the returned to its normal mumbled banter and honky-tonk music.

 

“Let me get this straight,” the man snickered again then held up his hand, “I’m sorry…really, I am.  I just can’t get past this.”  He took another fit of laughter, but this time much quieter.  His shoulders shook with the bottled up amusement.  Grant waited, glancing around the bar at the people who now paid them no attention.  The guy wiped his eyes again and took a deep breath then blew it out of puffy cheeks.  “I came in here to build up enough nerve to…” he looked Grant and shook his head.  “It’s something how fate just drops you where you need to be.  Isn’t it?”  He picked up his mug and drank the last of it.  “Let’s start again,” he offered his hand across the table.  “I’m Hayden Radcliffe.”  He grabbed Grant’s hand and shook it hard.  “You and I are going to get along just fine


	35. We All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and the children learn about Grant  
> May reaches the breaking point  
> Grant celebrates  
> Radcliffe seeks vengeance
> 
> WARNING - racial slurs, violence toward a child, reference to abuse

 

“So whadya do, little man?”  Trip snickered at Fitz who fidgeted with the Legos he was connecting and disconnecting.  The boy shrugged his shoulders but refused to look up.  “Haven’t seen the Fire Department so I guess ya didn’t blow anything up lately.”  Fitz still refused to respond.  “Okay, then it musta been you.”  He spun on the large recliner and pointed a finger at Jemma.

 

She looked back with wide eyes.  “I assure you Trip, that neither of us has been into any mischief whatsoever, so if anyone is at fault, it may just be you.”  She countered.  “What have you been up to lately?”

 

Trip shook his head and laughed, “girl, you are just too stinkin’ smart, aren’t cha?”  He spun the chair back and noticed one of his siblings visibly absent.  “Hey, where’s the muppet?  She’s always up to something.  I really did not appreciate the new look she gave my Adidas™.  I mean purple is an alright color, but permanent marker on canvas, woo-eee not my style.”  He shook his head and laughed at what infuriated him two days ago.  He’d saved for almost six months to buy those shoes.  Skye carefully colored both with a purple marker and damn it, she only has the use of one hand!  It was the first and only time he wanted to smack the little girl but the look on her face when he lit into her was enough to break his heart.  He ended up holding her until she stopped shaking and crying.  Melinda washed the shoes several times, which lightened them to a lovely shade of lilac, which was worse.  Phil offered to buy a new pair, but Trip refused.  He figured if he had put the shoes away, instead of leaving them on the family room floor…well, then Skye wouldn’t have found them.  Jemma took some of the blame having left the markers within the little girl’s reach.  None of it saved Skye from a strict scolding and a three-minute time out.

 

“She’s with Yoyo for the afternoon.”  Phil answered the question as he entered the room, closely followed by his wife.  “They’re visiting Sr. Mary Claire for a few hours.”

 

“Must be really bad, if they stashed the baby,” Trip whispered to Fitz as the smaller boy pushed himself into the chair next to his older brother.

 

Jemma looked at the concern in her guardian’s faces.  “Are we in some sort of trouble?”  She asked quietly.

 

Phil approached the girl and ran his hand over her hair, “no, princess, but we need to talk.”  He smiled a sad smile and glanced toward Melinda and then the boys.  Sliding his hand to Jemma’s back, he guided her to his wife’s open arms.

 

The woman sat down, pulling the child into her lap.  Jemma looked to both adults, feeling a sudden wave of anxiety.  She’d seen a look like that before…she’d seen it when they came to tell her about her parents’ fate.  The weight of the memory pulled her back as she turned to face Melinda.  Her guardian’s look did not convey a message of ‘it’s okay’.  The girl curled into Melinda’s embrace.  Melinda rubbed a hand gently on her back. 

 

Phil looked at the faces looking back at him and dreaded what he had to tell them.  He paced a few times, listening to the strange silence that invaded the usually boisterous atmosphere of the family room.  He took a breath, turned toward them and exhaled.  “I’m afraid we _are_ in trouble,” he started as all eyes were trained on him.  Each child waiting for the axe to fall and filing through everything that they could have done or been caught doing that would result in this intervention.  Phil might have laughed at the all round looks of guilt if the knot in his gut wasn’t about to strangle him.  “No one’s done anything wrong, but there is trouble.” 

 

Despite his restraint, he could not help fixing his gaze on Fitz.  The boy squirmed as he met his father’s eyes.  “I’m sorry, Da.  I didna mean it.  It was an accident, really it was.”  He stood and held out his hands.

 

Trip snapped his fingers and beamed.  “I knew it!  I knew it was the little guy.”  He slapped a hand on Fitz’s back sending him a step forward, then pulled back and blew out a silent whistle.

 

Phil furrowed his brow and wondered what the boy was apologizing for, but it wasn’t the time to deal with boyish pranks or a child’s mistake.  He held up a hand, stopping Trip and spoke directly to Fitz.  “Whatever it is, Fitz, we’ll deal with it, but right now I just need you to listen.”  The boy swallowed hard as he dropped back into his seat next to Trip and nodded.

 

 

The reaction to Phil’s message was as expected.  Jemma wrapped her self in Mel’s embrace as silent tears rolled over her cheeks.  She’d only had one experience with the man called Jamie Grant but it was enough to terrify her. 

 

Fitz sat still and rigid, listening…nodding…remembering the man who killed his mother…the man he wanted so badly to hurt…the man who hurt Jemma…who hurt him.  He didn’t realize he was crying until he bolted from the chair and wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist.  Phil picked him up and held him close just as he did Skye when she was scared.  Fitz didn’t care if he looked like a baby or if Trip teased him about it forever, he needed Phil…this dad…his Da…the man who _was_ his father.  The boy turned his face into Phil’s shoulder and sobbed out loud.  Phil held him tightly and let him cry.  Melinda made a useless attempt to keep the tears from leaking out of her eyes, while Jemma’s sobs matched the little boy who could not seem to escape the monster who haunted his dreams.

 

“Let me get this straight,” Trip stood between Phil and Melinda, unsure how to help with the ‘twins’.  “This guy followed Fitzie all the way from England?”  Phil gave a slight nod, narrowing his lips.  Melinda shushed Jemma, patting her back gently while rocking side to side.  Trip looked at the people surrounding him…his family…and felt the anger build.  “No worries, Da, I won’t let anything happen to either of ‘em.  Nobody gets near ‘em as long as I’m around.”

 

Phil swelled with pride in the boy who had taken a piece of his heart long before he came to live under his roof.  He’d used Fitz’s term to give him the title of ‘father’ and that in itself made him almost burst.  The circle was complete.  They were one.

 

“It won’t come to that, Trip.  Mack and Hunter will make sure the kids stay safe, so will Bobbie and Yoyo.”  Phil assured him. 

 

“So, that’s why they’ve been hangin’ out so much.  Gotta admit, I was startin’ to think it was all the free meals.”  He laughed through his nose.

 

“Trip!” Melinda warned, stifling a snicker at the boy’s jest.  Trip shrugged and turned up the corner of his mouth. 

 

 

Supper, homework, baths, stories and bed were the norm in the Coulson house.  Phil and Melinda were determined to keep it that way, despite the jeopardy surrounding them.  Although, two security guards were living in their basement and another pair was keeping watch outside their home.  Phil practically slept with his phone, hoping for any lead in finding the man responsible for the mess the family could not seem to escape. 

 

Once the kids were down for the night and the six adults reviewed all the information, or the lack of it, they’d accumulated throughout the day, Melinda did one of the many bed checks of the night while the other five checked the perimeter just as they would for a paying job or assigned mission.  This was personal and not one of them would let down their guard.

 

Melinda blinked into the darkness of their room, knowing that Phil was not getting any more sleep than she was.  “Taipei,” she said firmly, breaking the uneasy silence.

 

“Taipei?”  Phil asked, turning toward her.  “Really, Taipei?”

 

Melinda continued staring at the same spot in the ceiling she had been watching since she laid in their bed almost two hours earlier.  “My mother is in Taipei.”  She stated as if just making a point.

 

“And?” Phil wondered.

 

“We can pack them up and send them to visit grandma.  They’d be safe and we could take care of this mess without worrying about them.”  She informed him with the same tone she might use when discussing a security plan.

 

Phil raised himself up on one arm and stared at his wife.  She lay on her back, eyes focused on the ceiling, hands clasped across her midsection with one finger tapping a staccato rhythm.  “Mel,” he spoke just above a whisper, hoping she might be talking in her sleep…something she never did, but he could hope.  “What are you saying, Mel?”

 

“They’d be safe, Phil.  My mother has a place there…a safe house, they’d be as far from danger as we can put them.”

 

“Melinda,” Phil pulled one of her hands into his and moved closer to her.  Still speaking softly, he continued, “we can’t just send our kids away.  We can’t let this guy disrupt our lives…their lives.  Sending them that far away would rock their world.  Think about what it would do to Skye…to Fitz.”

 

Melinda took an uncharacteristic shaky breath, patting her chest with her free hand.  “Phil,” she breathed, “I’ve never felt so…been so…”  Her breath came in short bursts, something Phil had never experienced.  He pulled her into his arms and felt the shudder go through her body.  “Phil, I’m terrified,” she whispered into his embrace.  “I can’t lose them, Phil.  I can’t imagine life without them.”  Melinda May broke…broke in a way her husband had never seen.  The woman, who seemed to face anything full on, sobbed deeply, shook with the emotion she could no longer contain. 

 

Phil shushed and comforted the best he could, but Melinda would not be consoled.  His heart ached for her…with her, as tears rolled over his cheeks as well.  The only thing that held him together was his need to reassure his wife.  Melinda was strong.  Hell, she was the strongest woman…no, person…the strongest person he knew.  She always had been, from that first day.  He’d never seen her as small or weak.  She was his hero.  He was who he was because of her strength.  He was strong because she made him that way.  He would never deny it.  Yet, he knew, just as well as he knew her strength…he knew that losing these kids, that having even one of them hurt or…or worse…it would empty her.  It would drain everything that was Melinda May and leave nothing that he or anyone would recognize.

 

“We should have left them where they were…where they were safe!”  Melinda growled through her teeth as she pounded a fist on Phil’s chest.  “We never should have brought them here.”  She pushed herself up, bracing herself on her arms and looking into Phil’s eyes.  He’d never seen that look.  Melinda May did not panic.  With one fierce push, she was off the bed and pacing across the floor.  “It’s our fault…us…what did we think we were doing?  We don’t know anything about being parents!”  Now she was practically screaming, her voice almost unrecognizable.  Phil untangled himself from the blankets and rushed to her, grabbing her upper arms in an effort to bring her back.  “No, Phil, no,” she shook him off and raised a finger in his face.  “You know as well as I do there was a reason fate decided we couldn’t bring children into this world, Phil.  You know it!  We couldn’t protect them…couldn’t give them safety…couldn’t give them the life they’d deserve.  We aren’t supposed to be parents, Phil.  We don’t know how.  We make too many mistakes.  Look, _LOOK_ at all that’s happened!”

 

Phil tried again to take her arms and shush her.  “Mel, you need to take a breath.  Look at me, Mel.  Breath with me.”  He almost felt stupid; using the words he’d heard her use time and time again with upset colleagues or clients.  He’d heard her use it with the kids on more than one occasion when they were overly anxious.  Hell, she repeated to Skye over and over every night when she had one of those nightmarers or dream terrors or whatever the hell they were called.  “Please, Mel, you have to come back.”  He tried to pull her to him, thinking he might just hug her panic away.

 

“God, Phil…they’ll really take her this time…they’ll take away my baby.  Oh my god, Phil. I’ll never see them again.  They’ll take all of them, Phil.  Who will take care of them?  Who’ll love them, Phil?”

 

Phil Coulson could take no more.  He took his wife by the upper arms and shook her hard enough to see her head snap back and then forward.  “STOP IT!”  He shouted louder than she’d ever heard.  “Stop it.” He said more quietly as she looked at him with wide eyes.  “Stop, Mel,” he whispered and she crumbled into him, sobbing deeply.

 

“No one is going to take our kids, Mel.  No one is going to hurt them and we are not sending them away.”  He kissed her cheek and put his hand against the back of her head, holding her as they stood in the darkness.  “We…you and I…are going to protect them and love them and keep them safe tonight and tomorrow and every day after that.  We are good for them, Mel and they are the best thing we’ve ever done.” 

 

He began swaying back and forth dancing to a silent melody, but she felt his rhythm and matched it perfectly.  The mere sound of his strong voice engulfed her like a warm blanket.  Her cheek against his bare chest felt the heat that was him, the power that fed her strength and she slowly let herself recharge.

 

“You’re right,” he sighed when she had calmed considerably. “I do know that there’s a reason we couldn’t bring children into this world.”  She sniffed, then sobbed again.  “I’ve known for a very long time, Mama May.”  Now, she laughed a sob.  “We didn’t need to bring children into the world because our kids were already here…waiting for us to find them…to love them.”  There it was…Philism…the ability to say just the right thing…just the right way…at just the right time.  It was why she loved him so very much.

 

Melinda pushed back just enough to look into her husband’s face.  He was smiling that goofy smile that melted her heart.  She let her head fall onto his chest and felt him kiss the top of her head.

 

“Those babies, Mel…all of them,” he spoke now with his chin resting on her head and his arms around her.  She pulled her arms from where they had been crushed against him and laced them around his waist, pulling him closed.  She felt his smile and returned a shaky one of her own.  “Those babies,” he started again, “they did not grow inside of you, didn’t form because of us or develop under your heart…but every one of them grew _inside_ our hearts.  They’re ours, Mel, because they own our hearts, they live there…part of me and part of you, even without the cord.  We have a connection no one can break.  They’re tied to our hearts and I know for a fact that Melinda May has heartstrings made of Kevlar and molten steel.  Just let someone try to sever that.”  He hugged her tighter and kissed her again.

 

“They’re only that strong because Phil Coulson forged them.”  She mumbled into his chest.  He chuckled and rested his cheek on her hair.

 

“We’ll get through this, May.  We’ll find that bastard and put him back where he belongs.  We’ll do it together…with our friends by our side.” 

 

Melinda nodded.  “I love you, Phil Coulson.”

 

“Love you more.” He smiled and felt her smile back.

 

The bedroom door slammed against the wall with a resounding bang causing the couple to jump apart defensively.  Fitz stood plastered against the wall just inside the room, eyes wide and hair damp with sweat.  Melinda opened her arms and the boy rushed into them.

 

“Shhhh,” she comforted the shaking child.  “You’re safe.  Mama’s here.  Everything is okay.”  She lifted the skinny little boy and turned toward the bed, kissing him softly.  Glancing at the clock she counted the minutes until Skye’s nightly ‘alarm’ would sound.  “No one can hurt you, Fitz.  We won’t let anything happen to you, not ever.  We’ll always be here for you.”  She laid the boy on the bed and climbed in beside him, softly caressing his cheek until he relaxed and drifted back to sleep.  Phil sighed and returned to his side of their bed.  He climbed under the covers and urged the little boy closer to him, knowing that his wife would soon need the space for their other ‘tenant’.  She smiled across the child as she played with his damp curls.

 

“We’ll get through this together.”

 

 

Jamie Grant stood agape in the center of an eighteen hundred square foot suite at the Ritz-Carlton.  Radcliffe had made him clean up, shave, haircut…the works and then decked him out in the most expensive clothing he’d had in all his days.  If he got out of this alive, he intended to save the duds for his grand funeral.  He had carte blanche and didn’t even have to work for it.  Radcliffe just handed it over, gave it to him…he hadn’t even asked.  Yet, here he was on the eighteenth floor of one of the most luxurious hotels in the capital of the country he had snuck into without so much as a real passport.  Hell, he’d stolen it from some bloke that bore a striking resemblance to him.  Made his way to Canada, via France and then just walked across that Rainbow bridge thing and there he was in the US of A.  The hike from Niagara Falls to Washington, DC was not as easy and he had to be quite a cutpurse to make it this far, but here he was.

 

He dropped that passport over the railing at the Falls and watched it disappear into the mist.  No sense carrying around something that would connect him to that guy they probably already found floating in the Seine.  He’d given Radcliffe a phony moniker as well, didn’t trust the man…probably wouldn’t no matter the outcome.  So for now he was Donald Morgan, down on his luck and looking for his lost boy.  Radcliffe fell for it, but hell he could have told the man he was Bill Clinton and he probably would have believed him.  The man was off his head, but he was a means to an end.  He agreed to help him get back his meal ticket and pay their way out of the country…Australia…no one would look for them there.  Maybe he’d take that pretty little thing along as well, sort of interest on his loss.  Radcliffe only wanted the other two anyway. 

 

He pulled open the bar’s refrigerator and helped himself to the most expensive brew he could choose, dropped onto the plush sofa and propped his feet on the glistening coffee table.  He jumped as if poked, dropped his feet to the floor and slipped off the French leather dress shoes that cost more than he could lift in a year.  He picked up the shoes and ran his hand over them gently then placed them side by side next to the end table.  He then propped his feet back on the table and took a long drag on the bottle he held.  He belched loudly, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth and looking in all directions.  He laughed through his hand, silently at first then sat back and laughed full force, dropping his arm across the top of the large couch.

 

“You’ve made it to the high life, Jamie-boy.”  He told himself in his thick Scottish brogue.  “Radcliffe’s a bit of a nutter, but then he’s a classy nutter.”  He laughed again.  “Yep, nutter enough to know that feckin’ secret agent man won’t be thinkin’ about findin’ a bloke like me in a set up like this.”  He bounced up and walked to the floor to ceiling glass doors, slid them open and stepped onto the balcony overlooking the city.  He peered out at the lights and down at the traffic below.  “I’m comin’ fer ya, laddie boy and you’ll not even see me comin’.  Not this time, no not this time.”  He tossed back the last of his brew and fought the urge to toss the bottle over the railing.  Thinking better of himself, he stepped back inside and dropped it into a slot in the wall labeled with that triangular recycle thing.  He slid off his jacket and hung it on the back of the nearest chair, loosened his silk tie and pulled another drink from the bar.

 

“Let’s see what’s on the menu tonight.”  He spoke to no one as he opened the large folder listing his dinner choices and smiled at the pricy fare it offered.

 

 

 

Hayden Radcliffe paced in his living room, the ice in his drink clinking against the sides of the glass as he stalked across the room.  He paid no attention to the silence that filled his home. It wasn’t unusual.  His family…the people that shared his home stayed out of his way, he rarely saw either of his sons, but he was a man with many responsibilities.  He made it clear what he expected of his wife and his sons and what would happen if they disappointed him.  Until a few weeks ago, they would not dare fall short of those expectations.  It was that little Asian brat that started all of this.  He drank the last of his imported Scotch then marched to the bar and poured another.  He wasn’t sure if it was his second or his fifth.  He didn’t care.

 

Evangeline had pined and whined about not having a daughter to fuss over for so long, that he could not take much more.  She paid little attention to either of their sons, leaving them to their own devices since the nannies they had hired lasted less than a few weeks, always blaming Harris for their lack of ability to handle children.  He had friends and his business donated enough to that crumbling building that housed those runny-nosed brats.  He’d have them place one of them with his distant preoccupied wife who would lose interest quickly and the kid could just go back to where ever the hell they found her. 

 

He pulled a few strings, greased a few palms and that skinny-ass witch showed up with that little bitch that ruined everything.  He never expected the brat to be in his house almost a week.   _‘Two or three days at the most,_ ’ he thought.

 

And Harris?  Harris was high strung, just like he was.  Harris was a boy and full of piss and vinegar.  Hell, he teased Malcolm and nothing became of it.  Malcolm was a clumsy kid, always showing up to dinner with a new bruise or a swollen eye from some playground brawl.  Hayden could never understand why the kid couldn’t be more like his older brother.  He meant no harm in teasing that little chink, just good-natured sibling rivalry and then the little bastard attacked his own children…his flesh and blood. 

 

He picked up the bed that night.  He picked it and tossed it end over end to get at her.  She was screaming like a little squealing pig, thought she’d just squirm away from him, but he caught her.  He caught her arm and whacked her ass so hard it took her off her feet.  He was sure he’d given her at least three maybe four more before she slipped from his grip and took off down the stairs.  If Evangeline hadn’t screamed and stopped him in the hallway, he was sure he would have crippled the little bastard.  Instead, he picked up the phone and dragged the other bitch out of bed.  He jammed her dirty belongings into that filthy bag and threw it out the front door.  His wife’s scream was the only thing that kept him from throwing that kid out with just as much force.  He couldn’t throw her so he just whacked her again sending her into the corner and demanding she stay there. He didn’t care if they found marks on her…enough money could make that go away too.

 

He stood at his bar and threw back another Scotch then refilled his glass and took a deep breath.

 

And then…then it happened again.  That little Chinese bastard somehow found his son.  She taunted him…laughed at him.  He had no choice but to shut her up and then the other one…that black bastard came from nowhere and attacked Harris, broke his nose for gods’ sake.  They ganged up on him, the three of them tricking him into pulling that knife…the only thing he had to defend himself.

 

He drank again, emptying the glass.  He pinched the bridge of his nose then fell onto his arms and let his tears fall for a second before he stood up straight, wiped his face with the back of his arm and poured another Scotch.

 

“They forced him to confess…forced him to save that black bastard.  Forced him because the police are afraid to go after his kind…they’re protected by their color.”  He threw the glass, still full, across the room smashing it against the stone fireplace.  Shards of glass flew in all directions.  “How was he supposed to stand up for himself with that Chinese whore and that black gang banger pointing fingers at him…no, jurisprudence is slanted as much as her eyes.”  He spoke through his teeth, spitting like a rabid dog.

 

He turned and took another glass from the shelf then filled it with ice and poured the last of the Scotch into it.  He shook it slowly in his hand, listening to the soft tinkle of the ice.  He brought it to his lips then slowly set it back on the bar.  Turning he took a second glass, added ice and opened a new bottle.  He poured it and placed the glass next to his. 

 

“This is yours, Harris.  When this is over, we’ll share a toast…together…after we punish the people who destroyed everything….”

 

He clinked his glass against the other then tossed it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, l tjought this chapter was okay...sometimes l'm not sure. Apparently, it is a bit sluggish cuz 'poof' barely a reaction, so please take it with an apology. I will do better in 36....er...a...well....l will try.... 
> 
> Thanks for your comments and support 


	36. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz has a plan that might put him in grave danger

 

Fitz tapped his pencil repeatedly on the edge of his textbook, staring off at pretty much nothing.  His mind was on Jamie Grant.  It traveled through the memory of the man who strangled part of his childhood. 

 

He didn’t understand why his mother had moved them from their home in Busby to the streets of London, really the _streets_ of London.  They just moved from park to park, alley to alley, or curb to curb…she told him it was temporary…just until she found work.  What she found was Jamie Grant.  He remembered the first time she took him to Grant’s flat.  He remembered the stale smell of cigarette smoke and some other smoke that offended his nostrils and upset his stomach.  He remembered the blanket Grant threw on the floor for him to sleep on like a dog.  He shuddered at the thought.

 

Grant forced him to do things he knew were wrong, but he loved his maw and would do anything to keep her safe.  Grant threatened to hurt her so often that Fitz just stopped fighting.  He just gave up trying to get away, to fight and let the man do whatever he wanted to do.  Fitz hated himself for that.  He hated himself for letting his maw die because of his fear of the man.  He hated that Grant hurt Jemma and he remembered what he said, that he would take Jemma and she would not be so pretty when she came back… _if_ she came back.

 

Here he was again.  It was happening all over.  He and Jemma had traveled three-thousand six-hundred and sixty-six miles…five-thousand eight-hundred ninety-nine point eighty-six kilometers…and yet, Jamie Grant was about to take away his family… _again_.  Jamie Grant was going to hurt them…maybe he would kill them, just like he…. 

 

Fitz closed his eye tightly and squeezed out the tears he would not let himself cry.  He shook his head, stopped tapping the pencil, snapped it in half and threw it across the room.   

 

Mr. Thornton, advanced math teacher, pushed back his glasses and looked up from the work he was scoring, alerted by the small clicks the objects made.  He stood and walked up and down the aisles of his classroom, searching for the miscreant that was not involved in solving the calculus problem he had written on the black board.  Every child was head-down, fully engrossed in his or her work.  The teacher completed his walk around the room and returned to his own desk without spying the two halves of Fitz pencil that had rolled under a table near the window.

 

Fitz looked up at the man, without lifting his head, without stilling his pencil or pausing in his work.  Jamie Grant was back and the boy knew exactly what he had to do.  He wasn’t going to let this happen.  He knew he wasn’t big enough or strong enough to protect the family he loved, but he had to do something…

 

 

 

Hunter sat on the barstool at what was probably the twenty-fifth dive he’d visited in the last two days.  If it weren’t for the watered down brew the places passed off as beer, he’d be sleeping it off behind one of the dumpsters he’d also had the pleasure of searching.  Grant was a low-life on any continent and as such, he’d seek out his own kind.  Like most vermin, he would migrate to the seediest parts of any town.  Hunter wiped the…whatever it was he put his hand into on the bar… on the leg of his already dirty jeans and laughed to himself at the image of Bobbi’s face when she saw him in this condition.  He hadn’t bathed or shaved in almost a week.  He fit right in with the stench of the place. 

 

Trying to get any information from the patrons of any of these establishments was useless.  Half of them were drunk to the point they could barely hold up their heads.  The other half had given up trying to hold up their heads.  Those were face-first on the bar or tabletops or the floor, depending on how inebriated they found themselves.  Hunter had to wonder how long they had been in the place and just how much of that diluted brew they had to consume to get in that condition. 

 

As a result, he resorted to engaging the bartenders who all looked as if they came from the same parentage – beefy armed, mustached, missing teeth and tattooed oafs.  Just to match that physical appearance every one of them had either the mental agility of a soap dish or the personality of a half-starved grizzly bear.  In either case, it hadn’t worked out well, even with passing a few Benjamins.

 

But, here he was in this dimly lit, back alley joint where even Lance Hunter felt ashamed to be seen…and he had been in some pretty wicked places.  He held up one finger then tapped it on the bar, silently ordering a flat beer on tap.  The greasy man behind the bar filled a dirty mug and slid it from where he stood to where Hunter sat.  It glided across the perpetually slick surface, expertly caught by the man who ordered it.  Hunter took a gulp, swallowed hard and raised it toward the bartender.  The large man smiled his toothless grin and nodded back. 

 

 _‘Well that’s a plus,_ ’ Hunter told himself, _‘this one’s the dull, boring type.’_    He took another drink then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smacked his lips.  “Haven’t had a brew like this since…well, I can’t even say when…” he hedged as he took another sip, looking over the edge of the mug at the big man who now stood in front of him.

 

“Ya gotta problem, take it somewheres else.”  He half growled-half mumbled.

 

Hunter held up a hand and shook his head.  “No, no, no problem mate.  No problem at all, just making conversation.”

 

“Nobody comes in here ta talk.” The guy grunted as he wiped the bar with a dirty rag.  “I ain't about to listen to yer woes either.  Ya wanna confess or cry about yer problems, there’s a soup kitchen three blocks south.”  He nodded toward the door.

 

Hunter raised two hands as if in surrender.  “Okay…okay,” he spoke quietly as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a crumpled photo of Jamie Grant.  He dropped it on the bar with a fifty-dollar bill folded beneath it.  “I’m just trying to find my brother…he frequents establishments such as yours, thought maybe you might have seen him.”  He flicked the items closer and waited while the guy bent over to look at them.

 

The man picked up the small photo in his meaty fingers and looked at it for what seemed like too long a time.  He slipped the fifty into his own pocket with the opposite hand. “Ya don’t look much like brothers.”  He eyed Hunter as he flipped the photo back to him.

 

Hunter smiled a guilty smile.  “Well, half-bother actually…mum had a lot of friends…”  He shook his head and silently apologized to his mother.

 

“Wyzit yous talk like a limey and he don’t.”  The guy wondered, giving away the fact that he had in fact seen Grant.

 

Hunter thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully.  “Separated for years, we were, grew up with an ocean apart…I’ve been looking for him for…well for a good long time.” 

 

The man nodded and reached for the photo.   “Gimme a nudder look.  I gotta brother somewheres.”

 

Hunter hesitated, looking at the picture then passed it to the man.  “You think he might have been here recently.”

 

“Sat over there,” the man nodded toward a darkened corner but continued to look at the picture.  “Didn’t talk to nobody ‘cept that fancy ass guy came in coupla days ago.”  He handed the photo back.  “Ain’t seen em since.  Eider of ‘em.”

 

Hunter took the photo and stuck it back into his pocket.  He took a slow drink of the horrid liquid.  “You don’t happen to know where they went do you?”   The guy merely glared his answer.  “Maybe which way they might have gone.”  The barkeep shook his head.

 

“Got inna big black car he give me ten dollars to keep the garbage away,” A man stepped from the bright glare of the afternoon sun coming through the dirty windows answering as he staggered up to the bar and slapped his hand down.  He held on to the edge to keep his balance and smiled at Hunter with a mouthful of rotted teeth.

 

“I told ya ta stay outta here, Munk.  Ya need me ta trow yer ass out _again_?”  The bartender threw down his dirty rag and started to lift the piece of wood that kept him and his patrons separated.  The man he called Munk tried to back up, stumbling over his own feet.

 

“Whoa, ho, ho, let’s not get violent.”  Hunter suggested as he leapt to his feet and stopped the frail man from falling to the ground.   He held his breath steadied Munk and helped him back to the edge of the bar.  The guy smelled worse than the dumpsters he’d been checking for Grant.

 

“Look, I don need dis guy’s trouble.  His credit ain’t no good and I ain’t givin’ handouts.”  The large man stood with the hinged piece of bar in one hand, ready to step outside his liquid bottle haven into the open space of the tavern.

 

“Fine, that’s fine,” Hunter held up a hand toward the bartender then turned toward Munk.  “Let’s go, mate.  No sense staying where you’re not wanted.”  He turned the man around and helped him walk to the exit.

 

 

 

Jemma stepped off the school bus and hiked her backpack onto her shoulders.  She walked the short distance from the corner to the front walk of her home and smiled when she noticed her mother’s SUV in the driveway.   She turned back to the street and waved at the dark car that had followed the bus from the school then hopped up the front steps and pulled open the door.   Bobbie waved back and smiled at the little girl who never ceased to amaze her.

 

Something smelled wonderful and since she’d finally convinced her body and mind to eat like everyone else, she enjoyed most of what Phil or Melinda made for the family’s evening meal.  This, however, was a smell she recognized, Shepherd’s Pie.  Someone was making Shepherd’s Pie.

 

Jemma carefully placed her book bag on her hook in the family room, slid off her shoes and slipped into the hallway powder room.  She skipped into the kitchen to see Melinda attempting to show Skye how to set a proper table.

 

The younger girl noticed her sister first.  “Zemma, look!  I gots no sleaf!”  She held up her arm as proof.

 

“Oh, my, just look at it.”  Jemma marveled.  “It’s so white and so thin.  I didn’t imagine it would look so much different than your opposite limb.”

 

Skye stood with both arms extended before her, looking from one to the other.  “They still my orms, Zemma.  They not diffret.  The doctor say this one tired,” she held up her left arm.  “It needza esserside.”  She smiled at her older sister.  “And I no lip, Zemma, see…”  She walked around her sister.  “I no hoert my foots.”

 

Jemma laughed and hugged her little sister.  “Skye, you are very funny.”

 

Melinda smiled at her girls as she set the plates she held on the table.  “Dinner in about fifteen minutes, ladies,” she informed them.   “Skye, you go out and tell Trip to put down that basketball and come inside.”  The little girl nodded quickly and scurried out the backdoor.  “Jemma, tell Fitz to get a move on and wash his hands.”

 

Jemma nodded and turned to leave the room.  “Where is he?”  She asked as she reached the door.

 

Melinda set the pan she pulled from the oven on the stove and spoke to her daughter without turning around.  “Well, he came in with you…”

 

Jemma stood staring at her mother’s back.  “He said he wasn’t coming to Science Club today, that he was coming home early to work on a project.”

 

Mel turned quickly, trying not to startle the girl.  Trip shuffled in the back door with Skye perched on his shoulders.

 

“Mama I putted the baptist ball inna basket when I sit on Frip’s soldiers.”  Skye announced as her brother lifted her to the floor.  She ran and wrapped her arms around her mother.

 

Jemma stood still in the doorway, with May staring at her.  Trip looked from one to the other wondering what he’d missed.  Skye swung back and forth still hugging Melinda’s leg. 

 

“Mama,” she tugged on Melinda’s leg.  “I maked a basket.”

 

Melinda ran her hand over Skye’s head and spoke to her, never taking her eyes from Jemma.  “That’s good, baby.”  Skye crinkled her nose as she looked up at her mother without releasing her hug.  “Trip, how ‘bout taking Skye and getting her washed for dinner.”  The little girl slipped away from her mother and ran to her brother, reaching up with wriggly fingers.

 

The boy lifted her to his hip.  “Everything okay, Mama C?”  He asked tentatively. 

 

Melinda nodded and tilted her head toward the door.  Trip took the hint and moved past Jemma.  “Trip,” Melinda called after him.  The boy stopped and turned back.  “Bobbi is outside.  Can you please tell her I’d like to see her.”  He nodded, turned and looked at the little girl in his arms.  She smiled up at him.  He shrugged his shoulders and headed for the front door.

 

“Jemma,” Melinda began slowly.

 

 

Fitz and Jemma shared lunch together, like they did every day.  He explained to his sister that he’d be skipping Science Club because he had a project due for his STEM seminar.  She asked a lot of questions about why he couldn’t do it in the library or one of the science labs.  He told her he’d left his notes at home and he could work better in the quiet of the garage, without so many questions.  Jemma smiled and said she understood.

 

That was the easy part.  He knew Bobbi would be watching today, she was not as easily swayed as his big sister was. 

 

After lunch was free period, usually a time he dreaded.  Jemma always spent it in the library or in the medical pod, reading all that mumbo jumbo.  Sometimes she went to the secondary pod and watched the upperclassmen dissect insects or animals.  She dragged him along once.  He threw-up so much that Melinda had to pick him up and dose him with that horrid pink medicine that just made it worse.  He gagged just thinking about it.

 

Today was different.  Today Leopold James Fitz planned to spend free period in the fresh air.  He walked quickly across the common and around the side of the cafeteria, knowing Bobbi would be close to where ever he and Jemma were at any time.  He spotted the woman dressed as a Phys Ed instructor, just outside the side doors watching Jemma skip toward the library.

 

“Hello, Fitz,” she greeted him without turning around and before he could speak.  He stopped and stuck both hands in his pockets.  “Need something,” the tall woman turned toward him and smiled.

 

Fitz felt the bottom of his stomach drop.  His tongue felt thick and he knew he was sweating when it wasn’t that warm.  Bobbi was a professional; she could spot a lie faster than anyone he knew…well, except his mom.  He was terrified of her most of the time and she knew it. 

 

“I…I wanted to…to…to…l-let you know,” he stammered and berated himself for doing so.  He swallowed hard and started again.  “I wanted to tell you that I was going home after classes today, on the early bus.”

 

Bobbi brought her brow together and squatted down to his level.  “You came all the way out here to tell me that?  Are you sick?”  She quickly placed a hand on his forehead.  He shook it off and backed up a step.

 

“No, I just have to do some work on a project and it’s easier at home.”  He explained.  “I just wondered how you would be after watching both me and Jemma.”

 

The woman smiled knowing how much Fitz tried to be the protector.  “You don’t have to worry about that Fitz.  I’ve got it covered.”  She crossed her arms over her chest as she stood.

 

“I know, but I wondered how you could possibly be in two places at once.”  Fitz innocently inquired.

 

“Well, that’s classified and you just don’t have proper clearance.”  Bobbi teased.

 

Fitz smiled with one side of his mouth and shrugged his shoulders.  “I just didn’t want Jemma to be startled by someone she didn’t know.  If you are with me, she needs to know to look for someone else.”

 

Bobbi raised one hand and tapped her lips with her index finger.  “You may have a point, little man.  In fact, it may mean I’ll have to raise that clearance level.”

 

Fitz laughed a little laugh and turned away so she could not see the flush on his cheeks.

 

“I guess Yoyo can keep an eye on you and I’ll stay with Jemma…just so she won’t be _startled_.” Bobbi assured him.

 

Fitz nodded.  “That sounds like a fine plan, but Yoyo…”

 

“I’ll take care of it, Fitz.  Yoyo will be here in time for you to get the early ride home.  Let me worry about it.  You just relax, we’ve got this covered.”  She reached out and tousled the boy’s hair then looked at her watch.  “Hey, don’t you have Phys Ed now?”

 

Fitz grimaced.  He hated Phys Ed, but it was a necessary evil.  He shrugged his shoulders and walked toward the gymnasium.  So far, his plan was working…the next step would be the hardest.

 

Jack Brennan was a bit of dolt, but he and Fitz were often confused for each other.  They were the same size, had the same pale blue eyes and tight curly hair.  One of the teachers claimed that if it wasn’t for Fitz’s brogue she’d never tell them apart.  She always called them the wrong names anyway.  Jack was in every one of Fitz’s afternoon classes and rode the same bus home every day.  Jack always took the early bus.  The only catch…he lived two blocks behind the Coulsons and would exit the bus two stops after Fitz.

 

Fitz had taken every penny he’d saved since Phil started giving him a weekly stipend…allowance as he called it.  It wasn’t much…not quite fifty dollars, but he hoped it was enough.  Gym class was the best place to do what needed to be done.

 

It didn’t take much to convince Jack Brennan that he was playing a prank on his sister.  He convinced the boy to switch clothes with him, to sit in his seat in every class for the afternoon and to get off the bus at his stop.  Jack’s eyes almost popped when he offered him the money for his trouble.  He snatched it and Fitz’s trousers in one grab.  Fifteen minutes later the two had switched physical identities and the plan was in motion.  Fitz grinned at his success, but grimaced at the pain in his toes as he failed to calculate the fact that Jack’s shoe size was a bit smaller than his own.

 

When classes dismissed for the day, Fitz stood in the boy’s lavatory and watched as Jack boarded the bus and Yoyo’s black SUV followed as it left the parking lot.  He did not move from the window until both were out of sight.  His father’s people were good, very good and he knew he needed to be careful.  Jemma was at Science Club by this time.  She was across campus and Bobbi was near, making sure she was safe.  This was the only chance he would get and he would take it.    


 

“What do you mean he’s missing?”  Phil demanded as he ran a hand through his thinning hair.  “You were supposed to be watching him!  You had _ONE_ job, **ONE** , to keep my son safe…and you _LOST_ him?”   He didn’t yell often but when he did, it was the calmest most chilling sound.  It froze everyone in place…except Melinda May.  Her anger simmered just below the boiling point.  She paced rapidly across the kitchen, clenching and unclenching his hands.  She refused to speak, afraid of what might spew from her lips. 

 

She wasn’t quite sure who she was angry with…Bobbi and Yoyo who were duped by an extremely intelligent nine-year-old or that very same little boy who she intended to throttle after she felt his breath on her chest and his soft curls under her cheek.  Oh yes, she would hug him and kiss him and hug him again and then she would…or maybe she’d just take Bobbi and Yoyo to the mats for a little training exercise…a very intense little training exercise.

 

“He’s a smart kid.”  Yoyo sighed. “But, that is no excuse.  I should have noticed.”

 

“It’s a little late for that,” Phil barked.  “It’s been almost four hours, god knows where he could be by now.”  He lowered his voice, sounding calmer, “at least we know he’s not with Grant.”

 

“Why would he run away?”  Bobbi shook her head.  “He certainly took the time to plan this.”  She was almost proud of the kid.

 

“He’s afraid,” Mack spoke for the first time, staring off, deep in thought.

 

“He has nothing to fear.  This is the safest place for him.”  Bobbie reasoned.

 

“That’s not what he’s afraid of,” Mack corrected.  “He’s not afraid for himself,” he smiled a small smile at Melinda, knowing what she was thinking.  “He’s afraid for us…for you.”  He nodded toward the Coulsons, who now stood together.   “He’s afraid of what might happen to the family he has now.  Look at what Grant did to him.  Fitz has everything to lose and he’d rather disappear than let that creep get anywhere near you.”

 

The doorbell rang before anyone could respond.  A chorus of  ‘I’ll get it!’ rang out from the family room and the thunder of all those feet almost shook the foundation.

“STOP!”  Melinda commanded and three children froze in place.  “I will get it.”  She stormed down the hall scooping up Skye and dropping her into Trip’s arms.  She spun Jemma around and pointed the group back to the family room without a sound.  Trip held Skye with one arm and grabbed Jemma’s hand with the other, ushering both back into the room and closing the large double doors. 

 

Melinda pulled open the front door, ready to hand who ever it was their head before sending them off with the message ‘do not return’.  She was met with a small older woman in a skirted suit.  Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun.  She pushed the dark-rimmed glasses up on her nose as she looked Melinda up and down before speaking.  She shifted the large bag that hung on her shoulder and reached out a thin hand displaying an ID card.

 

“Mrs. Coulson,” she attempted what might have been a smile.  “I’m Abigail Holt with DCS.  I’m here for your final interview and assessment before your adoptions are deemed final.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to redeem myself for last chapter, but this one is a bit shorter than usual. If it's getting old, please let me know.


	37. All Roads Lead to the Wrong Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz is on the run  
> Hunter finds pertinent information for an odd source  
> Is Holt a legitimate representative of DCS?

The problem with running away is that once you do it…there you are.  Fitz found that out rather quickly.  He’d done a lot of planning in the time he decided what he needed to do and when he did it.  He was proud of the way his plan came together.  ‘Flawless’ he told himself.  Every step he’d planned worked perfectly…his getaway was clean.  What he didn’t do was plan for _after_ he actually did the running. 

 

Giving Brennan all of his money was a major mistake, not that he couldn’t recoup some of it.  After all, Grant had told him he was the best pickpocket he’d ever met.  Phil would be quite angry to know he’d reverted to his old ways, but what the hell, he’d never see him again anyway.  Fitz quickly wiped his eyes and walked faster.  He’d gone back to the gymnasium after all the buses had left for the day and retrieved the sneakers he used for Phys Ed.  It was a risk he had to take because his toes were aching from Brennan’s too small shoes.  It was easy then to walk to the next cross street and catch the metro into the city.

 

The city…Fitz hadn’t spent a lot of time in this city and it was a lot bigger and busier than the sections of London he’d haunted with his maw and Grant.  He’d never been this far into the city on his own.  The crowds of people…tourists, he imagined…were never ending.  It was getting darker.  He stood at the base of the Washington Monument and looked across the reflecting pool toward the Lincoln Memorial.  The setting sun had turned the sky a shade of orangy pink that gave the water a rusty glow.  An older woman smiled at him as she raised her camera to take a picture of the colorful memory. 

 

“Have you lost your mum?”  She inquired in a familiar accent.  Fitz shook his head and walked away, not really sure where he was going or what he’d do when he got there.  A security guard stood at the end of the long walkway.  The boy pulled the baseball cap he’d ‘borrow’ from Brennan, down closer to his eyebrows and walked slowly past the man.  He glanced at his watch and tried to ignore the rumble in his stomach. 

 

‘Almost seven…well past supper,’ he thought to himself.  ‘I wonder what they had.  Mom said it was a surprise.’  Mom, just the thought of Melinda caused an ache he didn’t really understand.  It wasn’t the same as the deep wound that his maw’s memory gave him.  It was different, kinda different.  It was like missing something that was never supposed to be yours but you really wanted it to be.  He sucked in a deep breath as he stood at the corner waiting to cross with the large crowd of people that surrounded him. 

 

Without thinking, he bumped into a large man then politely apologized.  The big guy smiled down at him and assured him it was nothing before turning back to the conversation he had been having with the woman who was probably his wife.  The light turned and everyone moved across the street.  Fitz watched as the man stretched his arm around his wife and laughed a very happy laugh.  As they walked away disappearing into the crowd, Fitz looked at the wallet he held in his hand.  He swallowed hard and thought about how the man would feel when he noticed it was gone.  He thought about how he probably wouldn’t be able to pay for his meals or his hotel or whatever his wife needed.  He thought about Phil looking so disappointed.  He stared at the wallet as the people passing bumped and pushed around him.

 

The boy shook his head and sprinted after the middle-aged couple, weaving in and out of the crowd looking for the lady’s crazy yellow hat.  “Hey…hey, mister!”  He called as he ran.  “Hey, wait!”  By the time he caught up to the pair, he was mostly out of breath.  “WAIT!”  He managed to blurt out before they stepped off the curb at the next corner.  He took a deep breath and ran the last few feet, stopping in front of the large man.

 

“You…dropped…this…” he held out the wallet to the man who quickly patted his back pocket and looked at the boy in surprise.  Fitz stood breathing heavily with his arm extended to the man.

The guy took the item from the boy, immediately opening it and sliding his finger over the cash inside.  He flipped out his license and credit cards as well before his wife slapped his arm.

 

“Leonard, the boy ran all this way to give it back, do you think he’d do that if he took something!”  She slapped him again and smiled down at Fitz.  “Thank you, so much, honey.  You are a very nice little boy.”

 

Fitz looked down at his feet, his face flushing more with guilt and shame than embarrassment. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled as he turned and began to walk away.  A large hand on his shoulder stopped him and he grit his teeth fearing what would come.

 

“Hold on there, sonny,” the man didn’t sound angry.  “Coulda been a real nightmare if I lost this, vacation would be over.”  Fitz turned slowly to face the man who still held the wallet in his hand.  He pulled a bill from it and slapped it into the boy’s hand.  “You’re folks did ya proud, son.  Where’s your dad?  I’d like to shake his hand.”

 

Fitz looked at the ten-dollar bill in his hand and shook his head.  He struggled to mask his Scottish accent and sound as American as he could.  “No, no sir.  I can’t take this.”  He pushed the money back toward the man.

 

“Nonsense,” the wife smiled.  “You did a wonderful thing and you should be rewarded.  Here ya go, sweetie.  You buy yourself something nice, you deserve it.”  She pushed the money back into his hand, adding another ten, from her own purse.  “Now, you just point out your mommy and daddy so we can thank them properly.”

 

Fitz looked again at the money in his hand and swallowed his panic.  He shook his head again.  “My ma..mom wouldn’t want me to take this.” His voice was just above a whisper.  “She…she…ah…she took my…my little sister to the bathroom.  I have to meet her by the…the end of the pool by the stairs…”  He lied, pointing toward the Lincoln Memorial.  “I need to hurry, before it gets too dark.”

 

“All the way back there, huh?”  The big man wrinkled his brow and turned toward his wife.  He looked at his watch.  “We gotta get to the tour bus in about ten minutes.”  The woman shook her head.  The man slapped Fitz on the shoulder hard enough to knock him off balance.  “I guess you’ll just have to thank them for us, won’t ya?”  He smiled and took the boy’s small hand in his large one, shaking it so enthusiastically that Fitz’s whole body vibrated.  “You run along, bud, get back to your folks before it gets dark and thanks again.”  The big man smiled broadly, as he slapped the wallet that now set in his back pocket.   The woman waved a wiggly finger wave as she took her husband’s arm and they walked off into the crowd.

 

Fitz looked at the money, holding one ten in each hand.  He smiled slowly at his dumb luck and knew exactly what to do…exactly where to go.  He knew exactly the place he could find something to eat…some place warm…safe…somewhere no one would think to look for him.

 

 

 

Hunter planned to get Munk a hot meal and a whole lot of coffee, but was certain they would not be welcome in even the greasiest spoon in town.  He knew he didn’t smell very good but compared to Munk he could package his odor as manly cologne.  Hunter had been in some bad places and he had been witness to some wicked carnage.  His nose had experienced a lot of abusive scents in his travels but the smell that emanated from this guy was enough to knock a maggot off a gut wagon.  Nope, he would not even attempt to put any diner through that torture.  With that in mind, he made his way toward the soup kitchen three blocks down, urging Munk in the same direction. 

 

Munk alternated between mumbling under his breath, shouting out loud at no one in particular and looking over his shoulder at Hunter.  In one turn he’d thank Lance for his kindness and on the next round accuse him of stalking him.  For a moment, Hunter regretted not throwing the guy in his car and driving the distance, but in doing so he’d probably have to burn the vehicle as the scent would never be eradicated.

 

Once inside the small cafeteria, Hunter was surprised at the number of people who greeted Munk grasping his hand or slapping his back.  Apparently, the man frequented the place quite often.  Hunter helped the man sit at one of the smaller tables, closest to the wall and farthest from the door, then hurried to the counter to grab two cups of coffee.  He brought them to the table and positioned himself to prevent Munk from wandering off.  

 

“Here ya go, mate,” he spoke quietly to the man.  “Try this.”

 

Munk picked up the cup and stared into it for moment before putting it down so hard that it splashed over his hand.  He did not react, although Hunter knew it had to have burned the man.  “Not this…not this…nope, nope, nope…don’t need it…don’t want it.”  Munk chanted.  “Don’t like it…don’t want it…don’t drink it…need a drink…need a real drink…”  He rambled on getting louder, almost frantic.

 

“It’s okay, mate,” Hunter assured him, moving the cup away.  “Maybe tea, instead?”

 

“No, no, no…don’t want it…don’t need it…don’t want it…need a drink…a drink…a drink,” Munk fretted, rocked back and forth on the metal folding chair.

 

“Okay…okay…relax there Munk, you don’t have to drink it....”  Hunter took both cups from the table, turned and pushed them across the table behind him.  “See…gone…”  He held up both hands like he would for a small child.  “All gone.”

 

Munk shook his head, still not having made eye contact with Hunter.  “Good…gone…all gone…don’t want it…don’t need it…don’t want it.”  He sounded calmer, quieter.  Hunter waited while the rocking stopped and the man feel into silence.

 

“How about a bit to eat, then?  Are you hungry, Munk?”  Hunter asked quietly.

 

“Corn Pops…Pops…Pops…need it…want it…Corn Pops….”  Munk repeated with the same emotion he had refused the  coffee.

 

Hunter rolled his eyes.  “Of course you do, mate.”  He grumbled under his breath.  “You wait right here, Munk and I’ll see what I can do.  It’s a bit past breakfast you know.”  Hunter rose and made his way back to the serving counter. 

 

A young man with his hair pulled back into a ponytail smiled and held up a box of the sweet cereal before Hunter had the chance to ask.  “We keep it just in case he shows up,” the kid explained.  “It’s all the guy eats.  Weird, huh?”  He passed the box across the counter to Hunter.  “You won’t need anything else.  He just eat ‘em out of the box.”  The boy shrugged his shoulders as Hunter grimaced and shook his head.  He turned to see Munk making his way across the hall toward the door.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, Munk.”  Hunter rushed toward him, grabbing his arm and halting his progress.  “Look what I’ve got,” he shook the box of cereal.  “Corn Pops…don’t you need it?”

 

Munk froze, listening to the rattle of the cereal inside the box.  He nodded slowly, turned and shuffled back toward the table.  Once there he sat back on the same chair and stared straight ahead, bouncing his feet to an unheard tune.  Hunter held out the box that the man snatched from his hand, tore off the top flap and pulled out the waxy bag inside.  He struggled with opening it, pulling at it and attempting to rip open the top.

 

“You need some help there, mate?”  Hunter raised one brow as he reached to offer assistance.

 

“Mine!” Munk shrieked, clutching the bag to his chest and turning sideways.  He blew air through his cheeks causing his hollow face to puff up like a chipmunk.  His droopy eyes grew wide and if he had enough teeth worth doing so, he probably would have snarled.

 

Hunter raised both hands and shook his head.  “Hey, just trying to help…just trying to help.”  He lowered his arms and almost laughed at the man’s attempt to rip open the bag with his teeth. 

 

Finally setting the bag on the table, Munk plowed his fist into it.  The air in the bag released in a loud pop sending golden chunks of sticky cereal across the table, to the floor and bouncing in all directions.  The few people that sat at tables in different parts of the large room stopped and looked in their direction.  Hunter tried to reach over and push the contents back toward their owner but Munk had already shoved his hand into the bag and was stuffing a handful of kernels into his mouth.  Most of the cereal missed and stuck to his dirty beard or landed on his grimy coat, he proceeded to pick them off with his blackened fingers and pop them into his mouth. 

 

Hunter grimaced and thanked fate that he not yet eaten today because if so, he’d be dashing for the nearest waste receptacle.  “Good, huh?”  He half-smiled at the man, who once again hugged the bag and turned away.  “Oh, absolutely, mate, absolutely,” Hunter agreed.  “The whole bloody bag is yours to keep.”  He thought for a moment, glancing around the room and drumming his fingers on the tabletop while Munk continued stuffing his mouth to the point he was unable to chew.  “You know, mate, if you play your cards just right, I might just be able to score another box for you.”  He leaned across the table, keeping his hands under his chest and whispered, “Maybe the family size, hmmm.”

 

Munk stopped and narrowed his eyes for a moment, then continued chewing.  It took less than five minutes for the bag to be emptied.  The man smoothed it out on the table and folded it neatly into the size of a teabag then jammed it into his pocket.  “Good socks when it gets cold,” he explained patting his side.

 

“Huh, right…” Hunter gave a pitiful smile.  “So, Munk, you think you could tell me more about the big black car?”

 

“Guy, gimme 10 dollars to keep the garbage away,” the man repeated what he had said in the bar.  “Didn’t throw me out then did he?”  He shook his head, causing his shoulder length hair to swing from side to side.  Hunter noticed the bits of cereal stuck there and hoped Munk was saving them for later.  He wasn’t sure he could bare another picking session.

 

“Yeah, and you did a grand job of it, too” Hunter nodded as he drew the photo from his pocket, hoping against hope that the guy would at least look at it.  “Is this one of the gents that got in the car, Munk?”  He held it out so the man could see it.

 

Munk rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times before opening then wide and studying the picture.  “That one give me nuttin, just gimme a look like he tinks he’s better’n me.  I know his kind…I know it…don’t need it…don’t need none of it.”  He shook his head and closed his eyes, a signal Hunter took to put away the photo.

 

“Do you remember when you saw this guy?”  Hunter was taking a chance, he was pretty sure Munk couldn’t remember how they had gotten to the shelter let alone something that happened days or weeks ago.

 

“A course I remember,” Munk slapped his hands down on the table causing Hunter to jump.  “I ain’t simple minded.”

 

“Of course, you’re not, mate…” Hunter placated the man.

 

“It was the day the guy gimme ten dollars…” Munk began.

 

Hunter nodded his head and blew out a breath, “to keep the garbage away,” he finished for the man.  This was getting nowhere.  He dropped his head in frustration.

 

“Right!”  Munk snapped, causing Hunter to look up quickly.  “The night wees had meatloaf…hate it…don’t eat it…don’t like it…don’t want it….”  Munk shook his head and a Corn Pop plopped onto the table.  He stared at it for a moment, clearly wondering where it had come from, then picked it up.  Hunter closed his eyes before he would have to watch Munk devour it.

 

“Meat loaf…mashed potatoes…green beans n’jello…that’s what wees had that night…that’s what they gived us.  Gave mine to Ruby, I did…don’t eat it…don’t like it…don’t want it.”  Hunter continued to describe the meal. 

 

“That’s great, Munk, great.  Now, can you tell me about the other guy, Munk, the one with the money?”

 

“He gimme me ten dollars…”  Munk chanted

 

“Yeah, yeah…garbage and all…do you remember anything else about the bloke, Munk, about the car?”

 

“Big…black.”  Munk spread his arms wide.  “Shiny…dark windows…”

 

It was too much to hope that Munk could remember the make or model of the vehicle.  “Was there a name on the car anywhere, Munk?  Did you notice a name?”

 

“Lincoln Town Car Executive, 1997 model, right out of the show room,  leather steering wheel, cruise control, keyless entry, four speed, automatic power control, power brakes and steering, fifteen miles per gallon city, twenty-thee highway.”  Munk rattled off the specs of the car in a completely different voice.  Hunter’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, but as the man continued, he was almost tempted to leap across the table and hug him.  “Virginia Plates SAK-7669”

 

Hunter sat in shock staring at the man who second’s ago spoke like a professional automobile executive and now worked at yanking a pea sized piece of cereal from the bottom of his chest length beard.  He barely made eye contact, barely spoke understandable English…if you could even call it English.  So utterly amazed was Hunter that he failed to realize they had been joined by a rather manly looking woman with orange ragged cut hair that stuck out in varying lengths.

 

“Used to work as some kinda big wig up on the Hill, lots of lobbyist from the auto industry.”  The woman’s gruff voice brought Hunter to his senses.  He turned slowly to meet the woman’s gaze.  She had buggy black eyes and clothing that said she might have worked at a filling station, but she was clean, right down to her well-manicured fingernails.  “Anything you want to know about cars, hell any vehicle, Munk’s your man.”  She nodded toward him and flashed a large toothy smile.  If she were a street person, she was the tidiest one Hunter had yet to meet.

 

“Uh-huh,” was the only reply Lance had as he turned back, staring at Munk.

 

“You new in town?” The woman inquired with a hint of apprehension.  “Ain’t seen you around before.  Friend of Munk’s are ya?” 

Hunter looked toward the woman whose voice reminded him of his first drill sergeant at the academy.  He shook his head in answer still gazing at the man across the table from him.

 

“Ya gotta name?”  The woman demanded as her voice got more serious.

 

“Hunter,” he replied, sticking his hand out to the side but not meeting her gaze.

 

She took it and squeezed hard, immediately getting his attention.  “Ruby Manion,” she barked her name and gave a rough shake as Hunter finally turned to meet her.  His mouth formed an ‘O’ as he grimaced in pain.  She released his hand.  He shook the pain out of it and swallowed hard.  “Munk’s not usually around this time a’day.  There a problem?”

 

Hunter massaged his hand and shook his head.  “No…no problem…Munk, here was helping me out with a little problem.”

 

“Munk?”  The woman snorted, “Now, that’s different.”

 

“Are you the Ruby, Munk here shared his meatloaf with?”  Hunter asked.

 

“Meat loaf…mashed potatoes…green beans n’jello…that’s what wees had that night…that’s what they gived us.  Gave mine to Ruby, I did…don’t eat it…don’t like it…don’t want it.”  Meatloaf…”  The guy was a like a recording that played with a verbal cue.

 

Hunter patted his hand.  He immediately pulled it away, hiding both under the table.  “Right, mate.  You mentioned that.”

 

Ruby dropped her head and laughed silently.  “He’s a real paradox, our Munk.  No idea, how he got this way”

 

“M…” Hunter looked at the man staring across the auditorium and switched direction.  “Do you remember the night he shared his me…meal with you?”

 

Ruby looked at him for a moment the nodded.  “Woulda been last Wednesday, always have it on the third Wednesday of the month…every month, same old thing.  He really hates it.  Lucky for who ever sits at his table.  They get double.”  She laughed again.  Munk continued to stare, oblivious to anything and everything around him.  “Don’t think you’ll get any more from him.  Looks like he’s done for the day.”

 

“Not a problem,” Hunter smiled.  “Old Munk here’s given me more than I need.”  He smiled, stood and pulled a wad of cash from his pocket.  Dropping it on the table, he nodded toward the pair.  “Thank you, Munk…Ruby, thanks for your help.  Use that to get him all the Corn Pops he wants.” 

 

Ruby picked up the money, narrowing her glare as she examined it then looked to the swinging doors where Hunter had disappeared.

 

 

 

Melinda stood staring at the woman, mentally running through every scheduled assessment, meeting, interview…every date that related to the kids.  She never forgot an appointment but today was…well, today was just another episode in an unending stream of chaos.  She forced a smile.

 

“Hello, Mrs. Holt…I’m sorry, we weren’t expecting you…” 

 

The woman stepped in without an invitation.  “We like to pull surprise assessments.”  She looked around the large foyer.  “It gives us a much better picture of what we need to evaluate.”  The woman turned back to Melinda who still stood holding the door.  She smiled and pushed her glasses up on her nose.

 

Melinda slowly closed the door.  “Welcome to our home. Won’t you come in.”  She tried hard to conceal her sarcasm.

 

The woman turned back toward Melinda, sliding her large satchel from her shoulder and holding it in front of her with both hands.  “Perhaps we can start with a tour of the children’s bedrooms.” She sneered.  “And, of course, I’d like time with each of them…separately.”

 

Melinda glared at the woman and spoke through her teeth, still managing to sound cordial.  “Let me get my husband.  He is just in the kitchen.”

 

“No problem, dear.  I’ll accompany you.”  She extended her arm allowing Melinda to lead the way.

 

They stepped into the kitchen to find Phil seated at the table nursing a cup of coffee.  Gone were his jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up giving him a relaxed look.  Gone also were their four colleagues.  Melinda glanced around the room quickly before addressing her husband.

 

“Phil, this is Abigail Holt from DCS.”  Melinda narrowed her eyes as she looked into his.

 

Phil stood and extended a hand.  “Nice to meet you.  Welcome to our home.”  He glanced quickly at Melinda silently telling her that everything was under control.  “We weren’t expecting you.”  He gave her hand a limp shake then turned to the percolator on the kitchen counter.  “Would you care for some coffee?  It’s fresh.”

 

The small woman sneered and looked from one person to the other before continuing.  She lifted her large bag to the table and snapped it open, revealing a stack of manila folders.  “That would be against protocol, Mr. Coulson.  As a representative of DCS, I’m afraid it could be misconstrued as taking undue compensation.  Someone, at some point, could see it as you trying to influence my decision.”

 

Phil shrugged his shoulders.  “Wouldn’t want that would we?”  He smiled as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

The woman pulled files from the briefcase and placed them on the table.  “Tour first,” she commanded.  “Then I’ll speak to the children.”

 

Phil and Melinda shared a quick glance before he stepped closer to his wife and took her arm.  “Well, this is the kitchen,” he began.  “We spend a lot of time here, meals and all…homework, snacks…family stuff.”  Melinda gently nudged him with her elbow.  Phil could be as sarcastic as the next, but he did it with such subtleness he usually got away with it. 

 

Holt held her clipboard checking items off as they moved from room to room.  She hmmmed and hawed at the Coulson’s descriptions of their children’s rooms, interests and activities.  She seemed most interested in the boys’ room.

 

“They share this room?”  She asked for the third time as she ran a finger across the surface of Trip’s desk, then rubbed it against her thumb.  She moved to the bunk bed and pulled the quilt and sheet away from Fitz’s mattress, then ran her hand along it.  “You are aware that regulation states each child must have their own private room.”  She stated without looking at them, but making another check on her form.

 

“We are,” Phil replied, “but, Fitz is not really ready for that.  He does a lot better sharing with Trip.  Gets a lot of support from his big brother.”

 

“Hmmm,” the woman looked at him over her glasses, “brother.”  She scribbled a note, viciously dotting her ‘i’s’.   “Have you notified his social worker that he has such difficulty?  Is he seeing a therapist regarding his insecurities?”

 

“He’s nine-years-old,” Melinda deadpanned.  “He’s afraid of the dark and has nightmares.  He’s been through hell and lost his mother.  Sleeping in the same room as his older brother is not cause to have him psycho-analyzed.”

 

“That remains to be seen.  I’ll talk to the boy first and make that determination myself.  We’re done here.”  She knocked her pen against the clipboard, clicking the point closed.  “Where are the children?”

 

Phil looked at Melinda letting her know he had an answer.  She nodded.  “Most of them are downstairs but I’m afraid we can’t let you speak with Fitz today.”

 

Before he could continue, she turned on him, almost angry.  “And why would that be?”  She demanded.

 

“He’s at a sleepover at a friend’s house, been looking forward to it for weeks.  You wouldn’t want to disappoint him.  Would you?”  Phil queried, with a hint of regret.

 

“Life is full of disappointments, isn’t it Mr. Coulson?”  The stern woman fired back.  “Call and have him brought here.  I can wait.”

 

Phil took on his ‘in charge’ persona.  “That’s not going to happen, Ms. Holt.  You’ve shown up here, unannounced supposedly to see our family going through our day to day, for lack of a better term, familiness.  This is what’s happening today.  Fitz is not here.  You want to speak to him, you’ll just have to surprise us at another time and take your chances.”  There it was.  Like it or not he wasn’t about to budge.  There was no way they could produce Fitz, so he hid the lie in a truth and hoped she’d buy it.  “You want to speak with the girls; we’ll take you to them.”  He laughed a bit, “but I’m sure you’ll need an interpreter to make any sense of what Skye has to say.  If she’ll talk with you at all.”

 

The woman merely stared at Phil.  Apparently, no one dared to take a stand against her and her department.  For a moment, she seemed speechless.  She took a deep breath and hugged her clipboard to her chest, glaring at the couple.  “As you wish, Mr. Coulson, but I _will_ speak to the boy as soon as he returns.”

 

Phil smiled and ushered her through the door and back to the kitchen where she once again picked up her files.  “You said the girls were here, is Antoine Triplett also visiting a friend?”  She grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

 

Melinda narrowed her eyes just enough for Phil to understand her concern.  What did this woman…this woman from DCS…want to know about Trip?  Trip was with them as a favor to his grandmother, a friend.  He hadn’t been placed in their care by any agency nor was he on any form, interview or assessment for adoption.  Trip’s grandmother was his legal guardian and as of two days ago was progressing toward release from rehab.  The only permission the Coulsons needed for anything regarding Antoine Triplett was the legally certified document Phil kept in his office safe, signed by him and Mrs. Triplett.  There was no way a DCS representative would have a file on Trip.

 

“He’s here.”  Melinda moved closer, standing behind the woman to see what information the file held but other than Trip’s name on the tab, she could see nothing.  “Is there something you need from him?”  Melinda was definitely fishing.

 

“I need to speak to _all_ of the children, Mrs. Coulson.  You do want to finalize _all_ of the adoptions, do you not?”  The woman replied.

 

Again, the Coulsons shared a quick glance of understanding.  “Absolutely,” Phil remarked.

 

“But you won’t be speaking to any of them alone,” Melinda informed the woman who seemed to be growing impatient.

 

“Our procedure is to speak to each child alone in order to get an unbiased, truthful deposition.  Having foster parents hovering about tends to antagonize the children, influences their statements due to fear of repercussions.”  The woman explained.

 

Melinda fought to contain her own growing anger.  “Our children are not afraid of us and they have no reason to give you anything but the truth.”  She took a step toward the small woman. Phil moved to take her hand.  “And there are _never_ repercussions.” Melinda ended with a growl.

 

Holt smiled for a moment then picked up her clipboard and slammed the pen against it.  “I must make a note of your seeming hostility, Mrs. Coulson.”  She scribbled quickly on the form then banged the pen again.  “I wonder if you might direct such against the children.  They can be so difficult, can’t they?”  The woman was definitely baiting her.  Melinda managed short deep breaths to control her animosity toward this person.  As usual, Phil remained calm.

 

“After what I’ve seen here today, I’m afraid I will have to make a few reports to my superiors.  Sharing rooms, missing children, refusal to grant interviews, hostile resistance…that’s a very lot to bring against you.  I’m afraid it does not look good, but the final decision is not mine.”  She picked up her files and dropped them back into the briefcase then slammed it shut.  Hiking the strap onto her shoulder, she turned and marched down the hallway.  “I will see myself out.”  She stopped and turned back.  “You will be hearing from me very soon.”

 

Phil and Melinda stood in the kitchen and watched the woman slam the front door.

 

“Where are they?”  Melinda asked still staring at the door.

 

“Garage apartment,” Phil replied staring in the same direction.

 

“Kids?”  Melinda sighed.

 

“Same,” he breathed.

 

Melinda turned toward her husband.  “She had a file on Trip?”

 

That was it.  Abigail Hold should not have had a file on Trip.  There was something very wrong with the situation, but it was Friday and it was almost eight-thirty.  There was no way to verify anything with the Department of Children’s Services until Monday morning. 

 

But, Fitz was missing and the only that mattered was finding him.

 

 

Finding directions to the nearest Metro station wasn’t as difficult as Fitz had thought, but it was quite a long walk.  He’d made three transfers and then had to walk another six blocks to reach his destination.  It was well after dark when he climbed the steps and sat down at the top.  Getting there was one thing, getting inside would be another.  He opened the bag he had carried the last few blocks and pulled out the cheeseburger he’d gotten under the golden arches.  It was cold, but he was hungry so the taste didn’t matter.  He finished then walked down the steps to the trashcan at the curb.  Tomorrow was garbage day.  He pulled open the can and tossed in the crumpled bag.

 

Fitz sat on the steps watching the traffic speed by and counted the number of times the light on the corner turned red.  A young couple laughed as they paraded up the steps and stopped in front of the small boy.  Fitz excused himself and scooted to the side.  They didn’t even notice as he slid a coin in the doorjamb.  He waited until they had disappeared into the building before he pulled open the door and stepped inside.  He smiled at his accomplishment.  The inside door was not as difficult.  The boy pulled a small plastic box from his backpack and opened it.  He took out a tiny screwdriver and inserted it into a pin-sized hole in the side of the door announcer.  It buzzed once and the door lock released.  With another broad smile, he pulled open the second door and headed to the elevator as he jammed the small box back into his pack and retrieved a small keychain.

 

The elevator door opened on the eighth floor with a soft ping.  Fitz stopped before stepping out, looking up and down the hallway then stepping into the familiar atmosphere.  He walked to the end of the hall and stopped in front of a door for a moment, smiling at the number then turned and put the key in the lock.  He pushed the door open slowly, hesitantly stepped into the darkness and pulled it closed behind him.  He stood with his back against the door waiting for his eyes to adjust to the change.

 

Taking a deep breath, Fitz flicked on the small flashlight that hung from the zipper pull on his backpack and quickly flicked it back off.  Somehow, the tiny beam of light stabbing the darkness was a lot scarier than just plain darkness.  He eased his way around the room and down the hallway, only bumping into furniture and shelves three times.  He rubbed his knee where the corner of a table had dug into it.  Finally reaching his destination, he dropped his bag on the floor and dropped onto the bed, sure that Trip would not mind at all if he borrowed his grandmother’s apartment for a few days while he figured out his next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to redeem myself with this chapter....
> 
> Interest seems to be waning, which stands to reason and everything comes to an end, but gotta tie up all these loose ends first.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	38. Down Every Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye knows somethng  
> Jemma and Trip set out on a mission  
> Radcliffe and Grant have an ally  
> Hunter brings a clue  
> Phil calls on a friend

 

It took Melinda thirty minutes longer and several threats to get everyone to bed then three more trips up the stairs before they were actually asleep.  Jemma and Trip were full of questions about the woman who had appeared at the door forcing all of them to sneak into the apartment over the garages.  Placating them with promises to give them answers when the time was right was unacceptable.  Skye understood very little about what was going on but was more than happy to join in her older siblings battle to stay awake as long as possible. 

 

After listening for telltale sounds of movement and mumbles, Melinda was certain her opponents had given up the fight and finally laid down their arms…and legs and heads…  All was quiet, but she couldn’t be sure they went to sleep.  Just to be sure, she walked to the bottom of the stairs for one last check.  She turned her ear to the upstairs and stood listening.  After a few seconds, she smiled and started to turn away when a slight movement caught her eye.  She peered up into the dim light to see Skye seated at the top of the stairs hugging the railing.  She closed her eyes and let out a long slow breath before placing her foot on the first step.

 

“Hi, Mama,” Skye smiled at her as she reached the little girl’s eye level.

 

Melinda rested her hands on the step below Skye’s perch and leaned forward gently touching her forehead to her tiny daughter's furrowed brow.  She let out a long, soft, exasperated breath.  “What are you doing out of bed?” 

 

“Where Fizt, Mama?  He no in hims bed.  How I sleep wit no Fizt?”  She characteristically put out her hands, palms up and bounced them up and down.

 

Melinda’s heart beat a bit faster, aching at the fact that she could not answer her little girl’s question.  She picked up the child, took the last few steps and then turned down the hall toward Skye’s bedroom.  She pushed the little girl’s head down on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.  “You don’t worry about that, bao bao.  It’s time for little girls to close their eyes and sleep.”

 

“I no tired, Mama.  I stay wit you, kay?”  Skye yawned.  “I find Fizt, too.  Kay Mama?”

 

“No ‘kay’, baby.”  She laid the little girl in her bed, pulled the covers over her and pushed Salty into her arms.  Melinda sat on the bed next to her baby and brushed the fine hair from her face.  Skye stared at her with wide eyes.

 

“You sad, Mama?” Skye pouted, rubbing her eyes.

 

“Mama is tired, baby,” and scared, she thought. 

 

Skye scooted to the side and picked up her blanket.  “You sleep a me, Mama.”  She patted the mattress next to her.

 

Melinda smiled at the little girl’s offer as she lowered the blanket and brushed her hand over Skye’s head.  “Mama’s got a lot of work to do before she goes to sleep.”

 

“You find Fizt, Mama?  You put him in hees bed?”  The little girl’s eyes were growing heavy.  She had trouble keeping them from closing as her thumb made its way to her lip.

 

Melinda took her hand and held it in her own for a moment before kissing it and tucking it under the blanket.  Skye snuggled into her pillow, half-asleep.

 

“Yes, baby, Mama is going to find Fitz and tuck him into his own bed.”  She bent and kissed the child’s head.

 

“Mama…”  Skye’s sleepy voice called her back.

 

Melinda stopped at the door and took a deep breath, tilting her head back as far as it would go.  She closed her eyes and gave an order without turning around.  “Skye, you _have_ to go to sleep.  No more nonsense, it is time to close your eyes and rest.”  The frustration in her voice was evident and her patience with this small adversary in the war on sleep was growing thin.   

 

Skye sat up on her bed and hugged Salty to her chest.  She peeked around its floppy head, sensing her mother’s growing annoyance.  “I no be not sez, Mama.  Why Zemma and Frip no take me too?  Frip say I too liddle.  Zemma liddle, Mama?”

 

Melinda pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.  She realized that Fitz was Skye’s interpreter and that made his absence hurt even more.  She needed to get back to the discussion in the kitchen, needed to be involved in the plan to locate her son, but in the same sense, she could not abandon her baby.   Maybe she should just give up and take the child with her.  She’d fall asleep in her arms or in Phil’s and that would end this battle.  Skye would just keep asking questions until she exhausted herself or her mother and tonight Melinda did not have the strength to continue.  She massaged her forehead and attempted to untangle Skye’s kid-speak.  Suddenly, one phrase cut through all the others.

 

“Take you?”  She turned back and advanced on the child so quickly that Skye fell back on the pillow holding Salty in front of her like a shield.  “Take you where?  Skye…” she pulled the little girl back up and gently placed Salty on the pillow.  “Where, Skye?”  Melinda held the child’s shoulders and shook her just the tiniest bit, not realizing her anxiety until Skye looked up at her.

 

The little girl’s eyes grew wide and her bottom lip trembled as one large tear rolled over her cheek.  “I sorry, Mama.  I tired.  I close my eyes.  I sleep, now.”  A second giant tear rolled down her face and she took a deep breath to quiet the sob that might make a noise.  Crying out loud in the night was a bad thing.  Skye knew that, even if Mama and Daddy said it was okay.

Melinda immediately realized her harshness with her youngest and pulled the little girl into a hug.  “Oh, baby…Mama is so sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you, nu ying.”  She kissed her repeatedly between words and rocked slowly.  The mother stood with her baby in her arms holding the little girl’s head against her shoulder and patting her bottom gently as she paced the darkened room.  She shushed her little daughter between her own sobs.

 

Skye pushed back and looked into Melinda’s eyes.  She pressed a small hand on to her mother’s cheek.  “No cry, Mama.  I be good.”  Melinda smiled a weak smile, took the little hand and kissed its palm.  “Frip and Zemma find Fizt so you no cry.  Frip and Zemma get him back onna bus.”

 

The reality of what Skye was saying hit home and Melinda rushed, with Skye on her hip to the other two bedrooms, finding both empty.  She gripped the little girl tightly as she dashed down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

 

“They’re gone!” She proclaimed breathlessly as she skidded to a stop.  Four pairs of eyes widened at her announcement.

 

 

 

Trip held Jemma’s hand tightly as they walked the few blocks to the bus stop that would take them to the nearest Metro hub.  He wasn’t a genius like the little girl who walked next to him, but he was no dummy.  Trip had lived in the city long enough to know that a tall black teenager leading a skinny little white girl down the street in the dark was a recipe for disaster.  Hopefully, they could get to where they needed to go without attracting too much attention.

 

“Now, you know what to do once we get to the station, right.”  He spoke quietly to Jemma.

 

“Stay as far from you as possible, but never so far that you can’t see me or I you.”  Jemma repeated.  “But, won’t other people wonder why a girl my age would be out and about at such an hour?”  She asked, looking up at him.

 

Trip let out a slow breath and scrunched up one side of his face.  “You tell them you missed your train and had to take a later one.  You’re on your way home and your folks are expecting you.”

 

Jemma walked faster to keep up with Trip’s much longer stride.  “Won’t they wonder why my parents didn’t just come to fetch me?  I would wonder that, Trip.”

 

Trip shook his head.  “Girl, not everyone _wonders_ as much as you do, in fact _no one_ wonders as much as you do.”  He laughed a little, but she did not share his humor.

 

“Trip,” Jemma scolded, “surely people will be concerned with a small child, alone on the Metro at this hour.  I have to have something plausible to tell them, wandering around waiting for a later train will cast undue suspicion and could possibly lead to someone summoning the authorities or thinking I’ve run away or both.  What will we do should that happen?”

 

Trip stopped abruptly as Jemma took several more steps before he pulled her back and faced her.  “Look, Jemma, that’s not going to happen.  We’re gonna go get that skinny little dope and drag his sorry ass back home where it’s more than likely Mrs. C is going open up a can of Whoop-Ass that’ll have that little brainiac standin’ for his meals until Frabjous Day!  Woo-eee!  I feel for the little guy already.”  Trip shook his head and flashed a smile.

 

Jemma tilted her head and stared at him for moment.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Trip.  You know that isn’t even a legitimate day.  It’s just a silly nonsensical word from Lewis Carroll’s poem.”  She paused then continued.  “Oh, poor Fitz…Do you really think Mama would…would turn him over her knee?”  She was some where between sympathy, shock and total disbelief.  Shaking her head she added slowly, “you really shouldn’t use the term ‘ass’ Trip.  It refers to a beast of burden not an actual body part.”

 

Trip rolled his eyes and started walking again, pulling the little girl along with him.  “Well, girl whatever you want to call ole Fitzie’s sit-upon, there’s a high probability he won’t be sitting upon it for a good long time.”

 

“Do you _really_ think so, Trip?”  Now she really sounded worried.

 

“Well, if it were me and my gram got hold of me,” he squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth for a moment before continuing.  “I’d spend long time thinkin’ about my stupidity while waitin’ for my backside to stop smoulderin’.”

 

“I don’t think Mama or Da will handle this situation in such a manner, Trip.  I think they’d be more understanding?”  Jemma reasoned.

 

“Girl, you saying my gram wouldn’t understand?  You think she’d just give me a lickin’ and that’d be it?  Course she’d understand and she’d be sure I did, too.”  He stopped as they reached the bus stop.  “Mama C was pretty upset and Da…well, he’s just holdin’ it together for the rest of us.  _You’re_ the genius.  Picture a volcano that’s just about to erupt and there ya have it, Jemma.  The sh..poop is about the hit the fan and don’t think this little trip we’ve planned won’t go without…to use _your_ words…repercussions, as well.”

 

The little girl chewed her bottom lip for a moment and changed the subject.  “How do you know he’ll be there?”

 

“It’s what I’d do, where I’d go.  Hell, where _else_ would that pint-sized smarty-pants brain go?”  Trip shrugged his shoulders.  “Anyway, the little bandit swiped my keys.”  He mumbled the last comment, almost to himself.

 

“You shouldn’t say…” Jemma sighed

 

“Yeah, yeah…shouldn’t say hell…shouldn’t say ass…shouldn’t say sh…I know, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right?”  He turned and looked down the street then glanced at his watch.  The last bus into the city should have been there.  He hoped they didn’t miss it.

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each pondering the ramifications of their decision to search for Fitz on their own.  It was a risk they were both willing to take if it meant they could show up on the doorstep bright and early with their little brother in tow.  Neither knew of the impending danger that they might be heading into and both realized they would have a high price to pay.

 

Jemma watched as the bus came to a stop in front of them and the door whooshed open.  She stepped ahead of her brother and turned back.  “Well, I’m just going to imagine that they’ll be so happy to see all of us that nothing else will matter.”  She turned, dropped her fare into the box and continued into the vehicle.

 

Trip smiled and shook his head.  “You do that, girl, you do that.”

 

 

 

 

“What?  Who’s gone?”  Phil set down the paper he was examining and took Skye from Melinda.  “And why are you up, angel?”  Skye’s lip quivered again, fearing a second reprimand from her daddy.  He quickly kissed her forehead and urged her head to his shoulder.

 

Melinda took what seemed like the hundredth deep breath in a very short amount of time.  “The kids, Phil, the kids are gone.”  She said with urgency, swinging one hand toward the stairs.

 

Bobbie and Yoyo jumped to their feet.  Yoyo made for the stairs as Bobbi pulled the back door open.  Mack stood as well, ready for whatever needed to be done. 

 

“Stop, just stop!”  Phil ordered, halting everyone in their tracks.  “Melinda…”

 

“Phil, I swear…if you ask me if I’m sure…I will not be responsible for what happens next.”  Her eyes were narrowed to nothing more than slits and she spoke through her teeth.

 

“I was going to ask if you knew how long they’ve been gone.”  He grimaced as he rocked his small daughter swaying side to side.

 

Melinda blew out a frustrated breath.  “Sometime between ten minutes ago and the last time I walked up those damn stairs!  I don’t know how the hell long it’s been.  Maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour.  Damn it!  I should have known.”  She slammed her fists into her thighs and began pacing. 

 

“Mama sayed bad woerds.” Skye whispered close to her daddy’s ear.  He placed a hand over her ear and shushed her, continuing to sway.

 

Yoyo stepped to her boss and put out her arms.  “Ven conmigo, pequeña. Tienes que estar en tu cama y no escuchar todo esto. Ven, Elena te cantará la canción de cuna que mi abuela cantó cuando yo era muy pequeña.”  She wriggled her fingers and smiled.

 

Skye shook her head and tightened her grip on her daddy.  Phil kissed her temple.  “Be a good girl and go with Yoyo, angel.”  He kissed her again, ignoring her whine as the woman gathered her into her arms, already humming a soothing melody. 

 

Yoyo spoke softly into the little girl’s ear as she held her close to her heart.  She nodded to Phil and then Melinda as she made her way to the stairs.

 

“Nessapeeno Salty,” Skye fractured an attempt at Spanish.

 

Yoyo laughed silently and kissed the little girl’s head as she started up the stairs.  “Si, necesitas Salty.  Conseguiremos tu viejo conejo.”

 

 

 

Phil threw his arms up in the air, venting his anger in the absence of his youngest child.  “Can this get any worse?”  He yelled at no one in particular.

 

“We’ll at least they didn’t take Skye.”  Mack mumbled to himself.

 

“Give them time!”  Phil growled.  “They’ll probably send a damn car for her!”

 

Bobbi covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, which she quickly turned into a false cough when Phil glared at her over furrowed brows.  Before he could speak, everyone jumped at the frantic rap on the back door.  She pulled it open revealing a frazzled Hunter standing a few feet back.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”  Phil barked.  “What are you standing there for?  Get in here!” He demanded.

 

Hunter held up his hands and shook his head.  “You really don’t want me in your house right now.  Best you come out here.”  He shrugged and offered a half-smile.

 

Bobbi looked back at the others waiting for some sign then let out a breath and joined Hunter on the patio.  The others filed out as well as Hunter moved back a few more feet.

 

“Knock it off, Hunter, now’s not the time.”  Melinda growled, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

Bobbi stepped closer to her partner then quickly stepped back, waving a hand in front of her face.  “God, Hunter what the…”

 

“Five days in the lowest part of town, looking for the lowest scum in existence leaves a bit of a stench, Bob.”  He smirked.

 

Mack stepped back as well, pulling a yuck face and covering his nose with his hand.  “Maybe we otta hose him down.”

 

“It’s Radcliffe,” Hunter blurted out without responding to Mack.  “Radcliffe is in on this or behind it or has some kind of sticky hand in it.”

 

“Radcliffe?”  Phil wrinkled his brow.  “How the hell…”

 

“Not clear on how they crossed paths, but somehow the two of them…Grant and Radcliffe are together.”

 

“And you know this for sure,” Melinda spoke with her usual ire toward the man.

 

“Yes, love, I do.  Where do you think I’ve been all this time?”  He smirked at her, although it was not the time for antagonizing.

 

“Looks like you’ve been rolling around in a dumpster,” she shot back.

 

“That too, darlin’,” he smiled.  “But I managed to get this out of a guy that doesn’t care for meatloaf but would sell his soul for some sticky sweet cereal.”  He pulled a small piece of crumpled paper from his pocket and tossed it to Bobbi. 

 

She unfolded and glanced at it for a moment before passing it to Phil.  “It’s a license number.”

Phil looked at it and held out his hand urging Hunter to fill them in on the rest.

 

“Got it from the Cereal Munk,” he began and at their looks replied, “I’ll explain later.  Believe me you’re going to want to bury this guy in Corn Pops.  I called in a favor and had this traced.”  He pointed to the paper Phil had handed to Melinda.  “Turns out it belongs to none other than Hayden Wallace Radcliffe who for some reason unknown to any chose to spend time in one of the greasiest pubs in the lower region of Alexandria just last Wednesday where he shared a pint or two with our friend James Grant.”  He finished with a sly smile.

 

Mack reached into his pocket and tossed Hunter a set of keys.  He nodded toward the garage.  “You need a shower…no you _really_ need a shower, man.”

 

Hunter’s jaw dropped.  “I bring you this and that’s all I get.”

 

“Go!” Bobbi agreed, stifling a gag.  “Throw those clothes away…no better yet, burn them…everything.  I’ll bring you clean clothes after you’ve been in there at least an hour.”  She and the others started moving back into the kitchen.

 

“Sorry, man, but it’s just too much…” Mack grimaced as he pulled the kitchen door closed.

 

 

 

 

“Where would they go?”  Melinda spat as she and Phil cruised the neighborhood in their SUV.  “You don’t think they planned this do you?”  She glanced across the seat at her husband.

 

“No…I think they’re trying to help, Mel.”  Phil answered, keeping his eye on the road.  “I don’t think we’ll find them like this.  It’s too dark and they could have gone anywhere although statistics show that most people who run away always go to the left.  Can’t say why.”

 

Melinda stared at him for a beat before responding.  “Really, Phil?  Statistics? Now?”

 

He shrugged his shoulders.  “What gave you the idea that Holt woman wasn’t legit?”

 

“The files,” she answered looking out into the darkness for any sign of his missing children.  “She had four files.  Jemma and Trip wouldn’t have files, Phil.  We’ve already established permanent guardianship of Jemma.  Trip isn’t anywhere on their radar.  He never was, so why ask about either of them.”

 

“You think she’s in with Radcliffe and Grant?”  He posed the question already knowing the answer.

 

“Don’t you?”  She fired back.

 

 

 

Radcliffe pulled open his front door ready to tear off the head of whoever was laying on the doorbell.  He’d already decided he’d just punch the guy in the face and deal with it afterward.  The guy turned out to be Abigail Holt who simply slipped in under his arm.

 

“You owe me, Radcliffe.  You owe me big time!”  She kicked off her high heels and pulled the pins from her hair allowing it to drop to her shoulders.  She shook it out and flipped it with both hands, then unbuttoned the stiff tweed jacket, yanked it off her shoulders and dropped it behind her.  “You can start by pouring me a double.”  She dropped into the nearest chair and propped her stocking feet onto the table in front of her.  She made it a point to ignore the other occupant in the room.

 

Radcliffe stood for a moment, looked out into the darkness, closed the door and proceeded into the great room of his large home.  He stood staring at the small woman who was now sprawled across the chair he had just vacated.

 

“What are you waiting for?  Let’s have that drink.”  She demanded, looking at him with wide questioning eyes.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Where’s the boy?”

 

Both Radcliffe and Grant spoke at the same time.

 

The woman glared at both of them.  “What happened is I don’t have the boy, as both of you can plainly see.”  She sarcastically snarled back at them.

 

“Why not?” Again, they spoke together.

 

“Cute,” she sneered.

 

Radcliffe moved to the bar and poured gin into a triangular shaped glass.  He added a splash of vermouth and dropped in a green olive.  “We gave you everything you needed.  There was no reason to fail.”  He pointed out as he handed her the glass.

 

She took a sip then rested her head back on the chair and closed her eyes before speaking.  “What I needed was for the kid to be there.”  She opened her eyes, picked up her head and raised her glass to the man.  “He wasn’t.”  She swallowed the drink and held out the glass for a refill, plucking the olive out before Radcliffe took it.  She slipped it through a small ‘O’ shape in her lips and chewed slowly, watching as he mixed another.

 

“And the others?”  Radcliffe inquired as he stirred the liquor.

 

“If they were there,” she stood and walked to the bar, reaching for the glass.  “I didn’t see them or hear them.”  Again, she took a small sip after raising it toward the man.  She turned and rested her elbows on the mahogany fixture.

 

Grant was also on his feet, tumbler in one hand, pointing an accusing finger with the other.  “Look, you both guaranteed I’d have my boy tonight!”  He dropped his hand pointing toward the floor.  “Tonight, not tomorrow or the next day.”

 

The woman was unaffected by Grant’s tirade.  “Yeah, well, like I said, the kid wasn’t there.”

 

“What do you mean, he wasn’t there?  Where was he?”  Grant stomped a foot, demanding answers.

 

She laughed at his juvenile behavior.  “How the hell should I know, they said he was at some kid thing.”

 

“And you didn’t ask where, didn’t demand to see him immediately.”  Grant spit out the words.

 

“They aren’t morons, they know their rights and the kid’s rights.  What did you want me to do?  Anyway, I think they were on to me.  Had no intention of letting me see any of those piss ants.”

 

“Did you ask about the others…the black delinquent and the Asian whelp?”  Radcliffe snarled.

 

“I did exactly what you told me to do.”  She sneered back.  “I wasn’t going to get anywhere near those kids.”

 

Grant finished the drink in his hand and marched to the bar to pour another.  Radcliffe stopped him, took the glass and did it himself.  Grant might look polished in his clean clothes and neatly trimmed hair, but he was still garbage and Radcliffe would not have him touching his beloved bar.  After all, he would have to burn the furniture the vulgar indigent had so much as touched.

 

Grant took the glass and spun back on the woman standing next to him.  “I want my boy!”

 

Radcliffe stepped around the bar and spoke calmly.  “And you’ll have him Donald, just not as soon as we expected.  We’ll all have what we want as soon as Ms. Holt goes back to that house.  They can’t hide the children from the agency meant to protect them can they?”

 

“Wait just a damn minute,” Holt stepped away from the bar and levied a finger at Radcliffe.  “I told you those people were on to me.  I am not going back there.”

 

“YOU’LL DO AS I SAY!”  Radcliffe roared, causing the woman and Grant to step back quickly. “And all of us will be rewarded.”  He finished in an icy calm tone.

 

 

 

“The bus!”  Melinda exclaimed, breaking the silence she and Phil had shared for the past ten minutes.

 

Phil jumped and slammed on the breaks, throwing both of them forward and then back against the seat.  He looked in all directions.  “What bus?”  His voice had a squeak he regretted.

 

“Skye said Jemma and Trip would bring Fitz home on the bus.”  Melinda told him.

 

Phil almost laughed.  “Skye said?  Melinda she’s four-years-old, she says a lot of crazy things.”

 

“She also repeats what she hears, even if we don’t always understand it.  Hell, Phil she’s why we’re out here looking.  She’s why Mack and Yoyo are canvassing the neighborhood like two cat burglars.”  While she and Phil had taken the car to search the main street, their agents were on foot searching side streets and alleys.  “Phil we passed at least five bus stops.  Even with an hour head start, they couldn’t have gotten that far, especially in the dark.  Trip knows his way around.  Why wouldn’t they take a bus?”

 

“Take a bus where, Mel?  The last run was,” he checked his watch, “forty-five minutes ago and it was probably on its way back to the hub.”

 

“And from there they could transfer to the Metro and…”

 

“Be anywhere in the city by now…”  Phil slammed his hand on the steering wheel.  “How fast do you think we can get Mary Claire to stay with Skye?”

 

 

 

The crew once again gathered in the Coulson’s kitchen, joined by a freshly washed Hunter who shared his tale of the mysterious Munk and how he’d gotten the info that lead to Radcliffe.  Unfortunately, the word of a schizophrenic street person would mean nothing against a guy like Radcliffe and his fleet of fancy lawyers.  He and Bobbi would situate themselves outside man’s home and track his every move.  If Grant showed up there…well, Hunter had wanted to plant his fist in the guy’s face since the day he’d shown up in Sheffield.  Unfortunately, Mack had beat him to it.

 

Mack and Yoyo were off to the Metro office hub.  They’d wake up every driver on the roster if need be.  Trip and Jemma would be a hard pair to miss and if they were on one of those buses, then one of those drivers had seen them.  Mack intended to have answers before sunrise.

 

Calling the police was out of the question, not because of the implications it would bring to the impending adoptions but if Grant and Radcliffe knew Fitz was out on the street, alone…the boy would be in more danger than he was already.  They couldn’t take that chance.  Phil had one card to play and he dreaded the thought of dealing with the man who was a thorn in his side.  Melinda had said nothing about contacting him for help.  She was no fonder of the jerk than her husband was, but the time had come.  They couldn’t continue alone.

 

“Damn it, Coulson, do you know what time it is?”  Talbot barked into the phone.

 

“Ummm, about a quarter after twelve,” Phil answered honestly.

 

“This better be good, Coulson!” The man’s tone never changed.  He always barked.

 

“I need your help, Glen,” Phil spoke humbly.  “My children are in trouble.”

 

The line went quiet and for a moment Phil suspected the Colonel had disconnected the call.  The reply was soft and unexpected.

 

“My office…twenty minutes,” a soft click ended the conversation.  Phil hung up his phone and turned to Melinda who nodded her understanding as the doorbell sounded.

 

They gave Sr. Mary Claire the shortest, safest version of the situation and assured her that the house was well guarded.  Phil had called in a dozen of his best operators, who now surrounded his property and would patrol it until he relieved them.  Other than the four who were actively searching the city for his missing children these where the people he trusted with not only his life but also the lives of his family. 

 

“I am so sorry to make you come all this way when it so late, but I didn’t know who else I could trust.”  Melinda apologized for the umpteenth time, taking the older woman’s hands in her own.

 

“You know I would come in a heartbeat, dear.  I am so glad that you did and I will stay as long as I am needed.”  Mary Claire assured her.

 

“You’ll be escorted to St. Bartholomew’s tomorrow.  You’re sure the pastor understands?”  Phil needed his own reassurance as he strapped on his holster and unlocked the outside then inside door to his gun safe.  He pulled out his service weapon and removed the child resistant lock then unlocked a third door in the rear of the safe and retrieved a box of ammunition.  He pulled a clip from the box and jammed into the weapon then dropped two more into his pocket.  Finally, he slipped the gun into its holster and relocked all three safe doors.

 

Sr. M. Claire watched in awe then turned to Melinda.  “You don’t use a revolver?”

 

Melinda shook her head.  “Only when it’s absolutely necessary,” she smiled.

 

The nun looked back at Phil.  “Don’t worry about the pastor.  Remember when I told you I had a cousin at that Parish?  Well, Father McGowan is both…the pastor and the cousin.”  She laughed a tiny laugh and patted Phil’s arm then took his hand and squeezed it hard.  “You be careful, both of you,” she grabbed Melinda’s hand and squeezed just as hard.  “My prayers and the Lord himself will be with you.”  She smiled but Melinda caught the tears brimming in her eyes.  She wrapped the nun in a quick hug then stepped back and followed her husband to the door.

 

“You give our baby a hug and kiss from both of us and tell her we love her.”  She nodded as she pulled the door closed with a soft click.

 

 

 


	39. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone goes in different directions as the search for Fitz continues  
> but Trip and Jemma know something the others don't

Grant paced across the floor and back.  He had no intention of doing as he was told.  Radcliffe was off his nut, mental if ever there was one.  If it weren’t for the money, he’d be gone.    He stormed back to the woman leaning on the bar, stopping inches from her face.  “If you’d done your job right, we’d be on our way right now.  You blew it sister!”  He poked her shoulder with his forefinger.

The woman grabbed his hand and pushed him away.  “Hands off, jerk,” she sneered.  “I did what had to be done and if you think you can do better you can jam your oversized feet into those heels and do it yourself!”  She poked him just as hard as he poked her, pushing him back as she did.

 

Radcliffe sipped his drink and watched the exchange, wondering if it would come to throwing punches, but he’d had more than he needed from both of them.  “ENOUGH!”  He bellowed.  Both stopped and drew several deep breaths.  “Both of you just shut up, sit down and listen.”  He pointed to the chairs, speaking to them as if they were misbehaving children.  Neither budged, waiting for the other to make the first move. “I_said_SIT!”  The man commanded, slamming his glass on the bar.  Grant opened his mouth to speak then snapped it shut at an icy glare from Radcliffe.

 

When both were seated, Radcliffe slowly mixed two drinks and casually walked to the space separating them and held out the glasses.  Grant took the offering, but Holt shook her head.  Jamie smiled and drank it in one gulp.

 

Radcliffe placed the second drink on the table and walked toward the floor to ceiling windows that faced the front of the house.  He held his hands behind his back and spoke without turning around.  “It’s come to my attention that Antoine Triplett has a grandmother living in a rent controlled apartment on Q Street.”  He turned toward his colleagues, keeping his hands behind him.  “Perhaps we can convince young Triplett to come to us with a little visit to the old woman.”  

 

Holt was already shaking her head.  “I’ve already done my part dealing with these people, I’m not about to go back in there and risk everything.”

 

“Don’t fret, dear.”  Radcliffe had walked next to her and picked up her untouched drink.  “You have another task to complete…a much smaller one.”  He held the drink out to her and nodded for her to take it.  She paused for a moment then reached up and accepted it.

 

Radcliffe turned toward Grant, who he knew only as Donald Morgan.  “You’ll go to speak to the old woman first thing in the morning, convince her to have her grandson pay her a visit and then bring both of them to me.”

 

“And just how am I supposed to do that,” Grant snapped.

 

Radcliffe walked to the bar and reached beneath it pulling a set of car keys.  He stared at them in the palm of his hand for a moment then walked to Grant and held them out to him. “Use your imagination.” He smiled.

 

*

 

Jemma and Trip walked the last block of Q Street and stopped at the concrete steps in front of the building where they had lived until a month ago.  At half past two in the morning the only people they had seen had very little to say and spent more time trying to make themselves invisible than caring about the odd pair that waited for the train in the almost empty station.  Trip held on to Jemma tightly, refusing to let her take more than two steps from him.  When she insisted on using the Ladies Room, he panicked thinking she would be inside and he’d be outside.  He solved the problem by insisting the outer door be kept open and then standing just inside.  His plan was to tell anyone who approached that his mother was inside and was violently ill.  They could enter at their own risk.  At two in the morning, he had no need to use his plan. 

 

They boarded the train and stared at the one other occupant that appeared to be sleeping.  Trip steered Jemma to the opposite side of the car and placed himself between her and the snoring passenger.  She fell asleep on his shoulder and woke when they reached their stop.

 

Now they stood, looking up at the dark building that had been their home.

 

“If Fitz has your key, how do you plan to get inside?”  Jemma yawned, covering her mouth with one hand.

 

“I said he had _my_ key.”  He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and shook them between his fingers.  “But, I’ve got my _gram’s_ keys.”  The boy took Jemma’s hand and hurried up the stairs.  With the master key, he opened both security doors and quietly made his way down the hall to the elevator.  “The night guy will be around, so we have to be quick and quiet.”  He whispered to Jemma who nodded her understanding.  They stepped into the elevator that opened as soon as Trip touched the button.  The trip to the eighth floor was just as fast since there was no one else vying for the lift’s use at this time of morning.  The lights were low, but gave enough glow for them to make their way easily down the hall.  Trip dropped the keys once in front of the door and both children froze waiting for someone to open a door in search of the source of the noise. 

 

Trip released the breath he was holding a second before Jemma did and bent to retrieve the keys.  He flipped through the assortment and smiled as he held up the winner to show his sister.  Slipping it into the lock, he turned it, opened the door and slipped inside after Jemma.  They closed the door silently and leaned against it. 

 

“It doesn’t appear that anyone is here.”  Jemma whispered as she walked closely behind Trip farther into the parlor.

 

“What...you thought he’d be partying or entertaining guests?”  He laughed in a normal volume.  “You don’t have to whisper, Jemma.  They can’t hear us out there,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door.  “Remember?”

 

Jemma nodded and leaned closer to Trip.  “Do you think they can see the lights?”  She swallowed hard and slipped her hand inside his.

 

He shook his head, “not from the hallway, but from the street, maybe…not sure who might be looking but most folks know my gram’s not here and won’t be for a while.  We best keep it dark.”  Jemma tried not to think about the weird shadows and odd noises in the dark apartment.  Trip squeezed her hand and pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.  “Not to worry, girl, I know my way around this place blindfolded, so I have no problems in the dark.”

 

Jemma took a few steps and stumbled, keeping her balance only because Trip still held her hand.  They both looked at the familiar Nikes™ on the floor.  “Look, Trip…” Jemma smiled, “he is here, you were correct, Fitz _is_ here.”  She released his hand and clapped hers together while bouncing on her tiptoes. 

 

Trip picked up the shoes and dropped them next to the sofa then motioned for Jemma to follow him down the hall.  He pushed open the door to his old bedroom and they both stood staring at the bare mattress.  Jemma’s face fell with disappointment.

 

“Wait right here,” Trip whispered and slowly stepped away before she could object.  He slipped down the hall to check his gram’s room and the bathroom.

 

Jemma stood in the doorway.  Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see Trip moving at the end of the hall.  A soft scratching noise caught her attention and she peered into the room scanning for any movement.  She turned back to see Trip step into the bathroom and pull the door closed.  Another sound…someone or something was breathing.  She gasped and backed against the wall.  Something was definitely in the room and it was moving…breathing.  She wanted to shout for Trip to run down the hall and bang on the door until he opened it, but neither her feet nor her voice would cooperate.  She was paralyzed.

 

“Jemma?” 

 

She squeezed her eyes shut.  It knew her name.  “Trip,” her mouth formed his name but no sound came out with it.

 

“Jemma”

 

It was closer.  “Trip,” she squeaked out his name.

 

“Jemma” 

 

It was right in front of her, she could feel it.  She bounced up and down a few times and let out the most blood-curdling scream hoping that the entire floor hadn’t heard but also hoping they did.

 

Trip nearly fell over his own feet dashing back to the room and slapping away the hand that was reaching for her.  A second scream pierced the silence of the room as the entity fell back, landing flat on the carpeted floor.

 

Jemma wrapped herself around Trip, burying her face in his midsection.  Trip raised his fists ready to defend her.

 

“Ow…that really smarts,” Fitz groaned as he sat up and rubbed the back of his head.  “What ya go and hit me for?  I wasn’t going to harm her.”

 

“Fitz?”  Trip laughed, putting out a hand to pull the boy to his feet and then into the embrace he already shared with Jemma.

 

The little girl loosened her grip and turned to the boy, wrapping her arms around him.  He scrunched up his face in disgust and tried to pull away.  She let him go and promptly slapped his shoulder.  “You gave me a terrible fright, Fitz.  You gave us all a dreadful fright!  Why would you do such a thing?”  She slapped him again.

 

“Ow!”  The boy protested shielding himself with upraised hands.  “That hurts Jemma, stop.”

“What’s the matter with you, sneaking around in the dark?  You’re lucky I didn’t sock you!” Trip scolded. 

 

Fitz rubbed the spot on his arm where he was sure the image of Trip’s hand would standout on his pale skin.  “How’s I supposed to know it was you sneaking around in the dark?”  The boy shot back.   “What are you doing here anyway?” He stopped and stared at his older brother, not sure if he was angry or relieved to see him.  “How did you know I was here?”  Fitz countered.

 

Trip let out a flutter over his lips.  “Well, once I saw you lifted my key, it wasn’t much of a stretch.”  He spoke out of one side of his mouth.

 

Fitz drew himself up, clearly indignant at the accusation.  “I _did not_ lift your key.  I _found_ it in the hall and placed it in my satchel so it wouldn’t get lost.  I planned on giving back to you.”  His voice rose as he defended his actions.

 

Trip shook his head and smiled.  “Yeah and you just _happened_ to have it on the day you decide to take off, scare everyone half to death and end up using it let yourself in here.”  Trip’s voice was starting to sound more and more like a father than a brother.

 

“I didn’t expect to be found!” Fitz shot back, “especially by the pair of you.”

 

Trip stepped back and laughed.  “Oh, little bro, you’re so lucky it’s me and Jemma found you and not Mom and Dad.”  He nodded.  “What the he..heck were you thinking?”

 

“Yeah, and what’s that supposed to mean?”  Fitz grumbled, hoping it didn’t mean what he thought.

 

Trip shrugged his shoulders.  “Didn’t your mama ever tell you it was impolite to answer a question with a question?”

 

Fitz paused for a moment then smiled.  “Guess that makes you worse than impolite since you’ve answered a questioned question with a question.”  The boy held up one finger for each time he repeated the word ‘question’.  As the tension eased, he waited for his brother to respond.  When Trip merely stared and Jemma let out a quick sniffly sob, he looked down at his stocking feet and stuck his hands in his pockets.  He looked up to the side at Jemma, hoping she would not cry.  “Are they awfully angry?”  The boy whispered.

 

Jemma wiped her eyes and tilted her head to look at her little brother.  “What do you think, Fitz?  They love you…we all do…and you do something so very dangerous.  I’m afraid there will be serious consequences.”  She reached out and rubbed her hand up and down on his bicep.

 

“I just wanted to protect all of you from Grant.  I didn’t want him to hurt you because of me.” Fitz’s voice was small as he continued to stare at the floor.

 

“That’s very brave of you,” Jemma smiled, “but I’m certain that mother and father may still…”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Fitz interrupted, “I can’t go back, not after being such a dolt.”

 

“That’s just nonsense, Fitz.” Jemma sighed.  “They may punish you, but they will certainly forgive you.”

 

Fitz shrugged his shoulders while failing to suppress a yawn.  

 

Trip rolled his eyes and shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter.  We are _all,_ all of us,” he spun his forefinger in a circle around them, “are going home in the morning, but right now we need to get some sleep.”  He nodded toward the bed and opened the closet, pulling out two large blankets and three pillows.  The two younger children watched but didn’t move from their spot until Trip turned back.  “Don’t worry, I’m staying right here with you.  No way I’m sleeping alone in this place.”  He tossed the pillows on the mattress and waited for his siblings to climb onto it.

 

Fitz slid to the wall with Jemma next to him.  Trip spread one of the blankets over them, tucking it gently up to their chins.  He placed a quick kiss on Jemma’s head and rubbed his hand through Fitz’s hair.  “Go to sleep, both of you.” He smiled then wrapped the other blanket around himself and lay down on the outside of the mattress with his back to them.  He had every intention of keeping watch until daybreak.  The soft rhythmic breathing of the children behind him lulled him into a sleep he well deserved.

 

*

 

Mack and Yoyo arrived at the Rockville Station to find one night guard and a half dozen cleaning people.  The large hub was closest to the area the children may have traveled.  It seemed eerie in the silence.  It made Mack think of one of those disaster movies that foreshadowed the end of civilization.  He shook off the creepy feeling and approached the guard.

 

“We need to get into the offices.”  He flashed his badge and barked the demand as he stood before the man who stood a foot shorter than he was.

 

The man rested his hand on the handle of his pistol and laughed.  He recognized the badge as an independent agency of some sort and knew the guy had no legal right to demand anything.  “Well, you’ll need to come back,” he turned and looked at the large clock on the far wall, “in about five hours.  No, make that nine.  The big wigs don’t usually show up until after breakfast.”

 

Mack did not share the man’s wittiness and took a step toward him.  “We need to get in, _now_.”  Yoyo stifled a smile as the guard stepped back and his stance seemed to melt into more of something between fright and insult.

 

“Listen, bud, I don’t have time to mess around.  I’ve got two…no, three kids whose lives might depend on my getting to your bosses,” Mack poked a finger in the guy’s chest causing him to take another step back.  “So, point me to the main offices.”

 

The guard now stood his ground, breathing heavily.  Yoyo shook her head and pulled a photo from the small bag at her side.  She held it out to the man.  “This is real, imbécil.  We don’t have time to waste.”

 

The guard glanced at the picture and then back at Mack deciding it was probably not worth the effort of trying to wrestle the guy to the floor.  He turned back, gave the photo a closer look and began to shake his head.  Yoyo let out a disgusted sigh and began to open the small bag when the man stopped her.

 

“Wait…wait a minute, let me see that again.”  He squinted as the woman passed it to him.  Examining it closely he chewed his bottom lip, shook his head and looked again.  “I’m pretty sure these two were here,” he tapped the images of Trip and Jemma.  “Caught the last train downtown…yeah, the black kid, he asked how late the buses run, bought a transfer when I told him.  This kid,” he tapped Fitz’s image and shook his head, “not this one, no I didn’t see him.”  He handed the photo to Yoyo and smiled up at Mack then, brought his brows together as if confused.  “They weren’t together.  No, I saw them both, but they weren’t together…well, not then anyway.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Mack was overjoyed at the news, but needed clarification.

 

“Well, they kinda milled around a bit in the station.  The black kid, he was over there by the newsstand.  The girl was leafing through the pamphlets on that rack.  He pointed in the direction he referred to, then paused to think.  I could swear I saw them over by the ladies room and then…I guess they boarded the train.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “I was just coming on shift, making my first rounds.”

 

“What train?”  Yoyo asked.

 

“Train?”  The guard repeated, “oh, what train…I think it was the Red Line…yeah, the Red Line toward Dupont Circle.”  He shook his head.  “Kinda late for a trip into the city, kinda late for kids their age to be out and about, anyway.  Hey, are they you’re kids?  You really ought to keep better tabs on them and what about that little curly head kid, is he yours too…”

 

“The Red Line,” Mack repeated.

 

“Si, that’s what the man said.”  Yoyo agreed.  They were no longer paying attention to the guy who continued babbling for a few minutes before he realized they were heading for the exit.  He spread his arms wide in a ‘what the?’ position and shook his head.

 

“The Red Line,” Mack said again, a wide smile growing on his face.

 

“Si, la línea roja,” Yoyo walked faster to match Mack’s gait.

 

“The RED Line!”  Mack almost laughed as he turned and grabbed the woman’s shoulders.  She looked at him with concern.  “I know where they’re going!”  He released his grip and hurried out the automatic door.  Yoyo stood for a moment watching him, then shook her head and followed.

 

The security guard walked to the door and watched as the couple climbed into a large black SUV and pulled away from the ‘no parking’ area.  “Hate this shift,” he grumbled to himself, “get all the crazies.”

 

*

 

Grant gunned the engine of Radcliffe’s ’96  Porsche, revved it twice and squealed out of the driveway ten minutes before Hunter pulled his sedan to a stop far enough away to not seem suspicious, but close enough to view the Radcliffe front lawn.  It was a long drive into the city and he needed to put as much distance between ‘that woman’ and his dwindling temper.  She was an incompetent blowhard.  If she’d done her job right, he’d have that little git and be halfway to Australia by now.  He stopped for a red light and revved the engine on the silver machine, just to release his penned up aggression.  He’d take care of that old bat and grab the black kid then drag him back to Radcliffe, even if he had to snap his neck to do so.  Radcliffe didn’t say anything about keeping the kid alive, did he?

 

The light turned and the silver sports car squealed through the intersection leaving smoldering skid marks behind.

 

 

Hunter glanced at the clock on the console…two forty-five, a.m.  He heard the door and turned to see Bobbi exit the vehicle.  She would do a quick and quiet check of the area getting as close to the house as possible.  There were lights lit on both floors.

 

‘Uh,’ Hunter thought to himself, ‘maybe Radcliffe’s afraid of the dark.’

 

Bobbi slid back into the car without a sound.  “Other than the six in the garage, there’s two car’s in the driveway, both have been there a while…engines are cool.”   Her gaze remained on the house.

 

Hunter watched the structure as well.  He nodded, “so our boy’s got company.”

 

Bobbi smiled without looking at her partner, “of the female type.”  Hunter snorted.  Bobbi continued with a huff, “get your mind out of the gutter, Hunter.”  She shook her head.  “I can’t be sure but I think it’s the same woman from the house.  DCS, my ass.”  She growled the last comment.

 

“Or Radcliffe’s got his greasy paws in that agency…money talks…”  He glanced at Bobbi quickly and shrugged. 

 

They sat for an awkward moment, watching the shadows move past the large windows in the Radcliffe home.  “Plates on the Lincoln in the driveway match what you’ve got,” Bobbi commented nonchalantly.  Silence again, as Hunter merely raised his brows and waited.  A few seconds later, she passed him a small slip of paper.  He took it and glanced at the numbers scribbled across it.  “Maybe that _friend_ can find out who she really is.”  Bobbie smiled as he looked at him for the first time since entering the vehicle.

 

*

 

Phil and Melinda walked through the almost empty parking garage, listening to the hollow sound of their footsteps on the concrete.  They reached the elevator without speaking.  They’d argued enough on their drive to the office building.  Phil slipped the key card Talbot had issued to him into the slot and pushed the button calling for the call.  The doors opened a second later and the stepped inside, turning and watching the doors slide closed.  Phil punched the button for the third floor and stared at his feet.  Melinda watched the numbers change.  When the doors opened again they walked down the dimly lit hallway to the only office with an open door and a glowing light.

 

“Talbot,” Phil greeted the only occupant in the room as he and wife stepped through the door.

 

“Phil,” Talbot’s normally gruff voice had a hush to it as he stepped around the desk and shook the man’s hand.  “How can I help?”

 

Melinda stood with her arms across her chest.  She did not in any way, agree to bringing Talbot into this…he was an ass and she hated the man.  Any and every thing he involved himself in usually became a three-ring circus.

 

“Abigail Holt,” Phil remarked.  Talbot narrowed his eyes.  “I need to know anything you can get on her as fast as you can.”

 

The men merely stared at each other for a beat before Talbot picked up the phone and punched in a number.  The answer came quickly and he barked an order.  He gave the woman’s name and told the person on the other end he wanted a complete life story in the next ten minutes, then hung up without waiting for an answer.

 

Melinda paced across the office, glaring at Talbot and her husband.  She needed to be out on the street looking for her children, not stuck in a government office listening to this moron.  She wasn’t sure which one she wanted to drop kick first…that military jerk or her husband.  The woman took deep breaths and tried not to imagine where her children could be or how many disastrous situations they could be in together or separately.  She had no intention of staying here much longer.

 

Phil watched his wife, knowing she was a ticking time bomb with no means of defusing her.  He gave Talbot as much and as little information on the situation as he could.  Yes, Talbot was a first class, stuffed shirt, moron but he had connections.  Talbot could open doors and expedite information that he might have to wait days to obtain.  The phone rang.  Talbot had it before the ring completed. 

 

Talbot listened.

 

Phil waited.

 

Melinda paced.

 

Talbot turned to the computer screen on his desk and tapped a few keys before turning it to face the Coulsons.  “Abigail Holt,” he barked, his normal voice returning.  “DCS specialist, thirty years in, retired last year, currently resides in Phoenix with her daughter and family…”

 

Melinda moved closer and shook her head.  Phil swore under his breath.  “That’s not her.”  He turned and looked to Melinda.  The ice in her glare caused him to shiver.

 

Talbot looked at the screen and then back at the Coulsons.  “Abigail Holt, DCS…that’s her right there.”  He pointed at the screen.  “My people do not make mistakes.”  He shook his head becoming defensive.

 

“Well, it’s not the Abigail Holt that graced our presence a few hours ago.  She’s older, taller, thinner, bitchierless…”  Phil sighed.  “Who the hell is….”  He stopped feeling the phone in his jacket vibrating.  He pulled it from his pocket and flipped it to his ear.  “Hunter,” he snapped one word, then listened.  “She’s sure?” one question.  “We don’t have time. Do what you have to do.”  He flipped the phone closed and jammed it back in his pocket then turned to May.

 

“Holt, or whoever the hell she is, is with Radcliffe.  No sign of Grant.”  He looked at her, telling her he was sorry with that look.  Her look screamed that she forgave him.  They nodded at each other simultaneously.   

 

*

 

Hunter set the phone on the console and turned to his partner.  “It’s go,” he said as he pulled open the door and she did the same.  The crossed the street in the quiet neighborhood and strode across the lawn to the front door of Radcliffe’s home.

 

“Surprise or announce?”  Hunter smiled at Bobbi.  She smirked back.  “Surprise it is, then.” He grinned, a second before kicking the door hard enough to slam it into the wall inside the house.

 

*

 

Mack stood in the road with his hands on his temples.  Yoyo sat in the car with the door open, similar to the other three or four dozen cars in front and behind them.  “The officer said it could be hours,” she sighed as she stood and walked toward him.

 

“We don’t have hours,” he replied, dropping his arms to his side and turning in both directions.  “DAMN!”  He slammed both hands down on the car.  He pulled out his phone and stared at it.  No service, there was no service in this barren stretch of road.  Traffic was backed up for miles in two lanes and he was miles from the nearest exit. 

 

“No sense, damaging the vehicle,” Yoyo sighed.  “We are stuck for now, but if you are correct the kids are safe in the apartment of Mrs. Triplett.”

 

“Yeah, but why would they go there…why run away just to go there?”  Mack rubbed his hand on his stubbly chin and continued looking for a way to get out of the line of cars and find a detour into the city.

 

“Maybe they were nostálgico…missing their home…” Yoyo shrugged.

 

“Homesick?”  Mack wrinkled up one side of his face.  

 

Yoyo slid her hands in her jacket pockets mirrored his expression, then looked at the growing line of cars behind them.  “Maybe they went there to find their little brother.”  She laughed a bit.

 

“You think they knew where he went…that Fitz is at the Triplett place?”  Mack stopped counting cars and turned to face her.  Yoyo raised both eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders again.

 

“We have to get this info to Coulson.”  He sighed as he checked his phone again.

 

“You know that is the fifth time you check your phone?”  Yoyo shook her head.  “It will not change because you check it so many times.”

 

He wanted to throw the phone as far as he could but instead he jammed it back into his pocket.  “I just hope Hunter’s having better luck.” He said in a frustrated breath.

 

*

 

Radcliffe was beside himself as two strangers dressed in black stormed into his living room. He dropped his glass on the bar and prepared to stand his ground.  Holt jumped from her seat and after the initial shock slowly began to inch her way toward the doorway at the opposite end of the room.

 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hunter shook a finger at her.  “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, sweetheart, and that would be so rude.”

 

“Who do you think you are?”  Radcliffe demanded, spitting the words out with a spray of saliva.  “You can’t just come in here…get out, before I call the authorities.”

 

Bobbi did not miss a step, walking directly up to Radcliffe and forcing him backward until he bumped the nearest chair.  She placed a hand in the center of his chest and pushed hard.  “Shut up, Radcliffe.”  He dropped into the seat with a disgusted huff and immediately attempted to rise.  She pushed him back and cast a glance that told him to stay.

 

Hunter smiled at the woman with whom he had been having a staring match.  “Best have a seat, love, she doesn’t have a lot of patience…well, that’s not really true…,” he paused and shook his head, tsked and continued.  “She’s got none…no patience at all.” 

 

The woman sidestepped to a chair without turning her back to the strangers, holding out a hand in an attempt to calm him.  She eyed both carefully, as if sizing up her chances of escape.

 

“Where’s your friend?”  Bobbi sneered at Radcliffe.

 

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”  Radcliffe shot back, attempting to rise from the chair.  Before he finished the sentence, she had him by the collar, pulled him to his feet and tightened her grip.

 

“Warned you mate,” Hunter sighed and shook his head.

 

“Where’s Grant?”  Bobbie asked through her teeth, squeezing him tighter.  Radcliffe made a vain attempt to pull her hands away as his face slowly turned from dark red to an odd shade of blue.

 

Holt pushed herself up a few inches and then dropped back at a glare from Hunter.  “Come on, Bob, he won’t be able to tell us anything if you kill him right away.”

 

Bobbi tilted her head, glaring at Radcliffe as if in deep thought.  She pursed her lips and let out a sigh then dropped the man back into his seat.  He drew a deep breath and coughed deeply as he rubbed his neck.

 

Hunter sat on the arm of Radcliffe’s chair and pulled him forward by yanking his tie.  He slapped his back several times, sending the man forward.  “Be careful now, mate, cuz that usually only works once.  She doesn’t usually take me seriously.”  He smiled at Bobbi who cast him the ‘evil eye’.

 

“I don’t know any Grant.”  Radcliffe choked out in a raspy voice, then coughed until his face was once again somewhere between scarlet and fuchsia.

 

Hunter smacked him on the back a few more times, then stood and retrieved the man’s glass from the bar.  He sniffed it once.  “Mmmm, the good stuff, is it?  Only the best…I would expect nothing less of you.”  He strode back and wriggled the glass in front of Radcliffe.  The man glared at him over his brow and took the glass. 

 

Hunter turned toward the woman.  She sat on the edge of the chair, angrily digging her nails into its riveted leather arms.  “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, love.”  Hunter smiled broadly at her and plopped down on the coffee table in front of her.  “You do look vaguely familiar, though.”  He tapped a finger on his chin.  “Now, where have I seen you…hmmmm.”  He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and let out a long breath then snapped his fingers causing her to jump.  “I believe it was earlier this evening…yes, I believe it was…didn’t I see you at the Coulson residence?” 

 

She stared viciously, refusing to answer.  He placed a hand on hers.  She pulled it away quickly, snarling at him.  “Oh, yes, I’m sure it was you, wasn’t it.”  He took her hand again.  She squirmed, narrowing her eyes at him, but he held it tightly.  She attempted to jerk it away, but could not break his grip.  “Wasn’t it?” He repeated.  She paused a moment, narrowed her eyes to almost slits.  She nodded once.   “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it.”  He patted her hand without letting go, despite her struggling.  “And you don’t really work for Department of Children and Youth.”  He made the statement shaking his head.  She shook her head with barely a movement, pursing her lips with a deadly sneer.

 

Hunter smiled and looked at Bobbi, who rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.  “I think maybe you work for this bloke.”  He tossed his head toward the man who was still attempting to clear his throat.  The woman glanced at Radcliffe.  It was enough of an affirmative answer for the agent.  He smiled again.  “Very good, very good, now…one more question, love…Where’s Grant?”  He waited, squeezed her hand tighter and nodded as she tried but failed to hide her grimace of pain.

 

The woman looked like she might growl as she tried to pull her hand free.  Hunter raised his brows silently urging her to answer.  She glared at him and shook her head.  He squeezed her hand tighter, turning the tips of her fingers a bluish tint.  She shook her head again, the glare melting slowly.

 

Radcliffe coughed once and attempted to stand then reconsidered and remained seated.  “Who is this Grant and what makes you think either of us knows anything about him?” he demanded, still belligerent.  “You come storming in here assaulting me, demanding information from my friend, looking for someone we don’t even know…my lawyers will…”  Another round of coughing cut him short.

 

Hunter smiled at the woman whose hand he still gripped tightly and held up a finger indicating she should wait.  He turned to Radcliffe.  “Now, mate, I’m talking to the lady.  You’ll have to wait, but I do have it on good authority that you and Grant shared a pint or two at a little place in the seedier side of Alexandria just last Wednesday.”  He pulled the wrinkled picture from his pocket and held it out for the man to see.

 

“You’re insane.” Radcliffe spat without looking at the photo.  “Do I look like someone who would as much as drive past a sewer like that?”

 

“Oh, not only that but stopped, dropped in, shared a few and then left with the bloke in that fancy black car parked in your driveway.”  Hunter almost laughed.

 

“Morgan.” The woman in the chair spoke a little above a whisper.

 

Hunter turned toward the sound.  “What’s that you said, love?”

 

She cleared her throat and repeated, “Morgan, that’s Donald Morgan.”

 

“Shut up, bitch!”  Radcliffe ordered.

 

Hunter and Bobbi exchanged glances. 

 

“Shut up, yourself, Radcliffe!”  She barked back as Hunter released his grip and she massaged her fingers.  “You can’t pay me enough to take this shit!”

 

“I said shut up!” The man repeated using the tone he reserved for his wife, surprised this small woman would defy him.

 

“Morgan, you say?”  Hunter played along, turning the photo toward himself and staring at it for a beat.  “Morgan.” He repeated.

 

“Rainier, I swear, you say one more word and I’ll…”  Radcliffe rose from his seat, despite Bobbi’s stance, raising a fist at the woman.  She shoved hard, pushing him back into the chair.  Grabbing his tie and wrapping it around her fist until it cut into his neck, she pulled him forward until they were face to face. 

 

“Let the lady talk,” she whispered with a sly smile then released Radcliffe and let him fall back.

Once again, the man drew a deep breath and coughed profusely.

 

“Rainier, is it then?”  Hunter snorted.  “And here was I thinking you were called Holt.  Now why was that do you suppose?”

 

The woman turned up one side of her mouth in a half-sneer.  She continued to rub the ache from her hand.  “If you want to know about that ass, Morgan, you’re going to have to give something in return.”  Radcliffe coughed louder in an attempt to speak.  He was promptly ignored.

 

Hunter shook his head.  “Well, darlin’ that depends on what you have to say and just who this Morgan is and where he might be.”

 

Lydia Rainier, alias Abigail Holt, had a lot to say about her feelings toward Donald Morgan none of which was amiable.  She held no affection for the man, who she’d known only a few days.  She offered to give up all she knew once guaranteed she’d walk away from the entire thing.  She wanted nothing more to do with it.  All she wanted was the money Radcliffe had promised. 

 

Radcliffe jumped to his feet again, bellowing that she hadn’t done what he’s needed and had not produced the children as she had promised.  He continued to protest until Bobbi was forced to use his tie as a gag, yanking it from his collar and tying it around his mouth before she pulled a tie from the draperies and wound it around his hands.  He continued to bellow and swear in garbled protest until she could take no more.  One punch knocked him cold.  His comment about the children confirmed their worst fears.  Radcliffe _was_ after them and now Grant was out there.

 

…And so was Fitz…


	40. Come Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger moves in as everyone moves closer together

 

Phil turned the key starting the car then sat staring at the concrete parking garage wall.  He laid his hand on the shift and paused then turned the key again stilling the engine.  He let out a defeated sigh.

 

“What are you doing?”  Melinda demanded from the passenger seat.  “We have to go.”

 

He hung his head for a moment before replying quietly.  “Go where, Mel?”  He looked up at her, the despair in his eyes so deep it hit her like a punch.  “We don’t even know where to start.”  He retuned his gaze to the wall, his voice cracked as he spoke.

 

She reached across the seat and laid her hand atop his.  “We’re going to find them, Phil.”

 

“Talbot’s done all he can for now.  We can’t risk letting Grant know that Fitz is out there…alone.” He pulled his hand from hers and slammed both on the steering wheel.  “Damn it, Mel, why didn’t we see this coming?  How did he just walk away?”

 

Melinda couldn’t help the small laugh.  “He’s awful smart, Phil…smarter than all of us.”  She let her hand remain on his thigh where it had slipped when he pulled his own away.

 

“Smart,” he snorted.  “He’s going to smart when I get my hands on him.  I swear, Mel, I’m going to tan his hide…”  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to qualm his growing anger. 

 

Melinda smiled a weak smile and patted his leg gently.  “No you won’t, you’d never lay a hand on any of them.”

 

He smiled and looked at her, tears swimming in his eyes.  Slowly he slipped his hand over hers and brought it to his lips.  “None of them have ever scared me this badly,” he shook his head and let out a breath.  “I’m not so sure.”   He stared ahead again.  “I can’t get Mack; phone just keeps saying no service.  No word from Bobbi and Hunter in hours…Skye?”  He looked to her suddenly anxious.

 

“Safe and sound asleep at St. Bart’s.”

 

 

“Well, we have that,” he sighed as he turned the key and threw the SUV in reverse. 

 

 

*

 

Grant pulled the sports car to a stop across the street from the apartment building that matched the address he’d gotten from Radcliffe.  He looked up at the darkened windows then at his watch.   Almost five a.m. meant he had about four hours before he could make a reasonable visit to the old lady’s place.  Any earlier would seem out of place, nine seemed like a good choice.  He was tired.  He’d get some sleep before dealing with the old bat.  He released the latch on his seat and pushed it back, raised an arm over his eyes and tried to relax.  He couldn’t help smiling.  In a few hours he’d be that much closer to wringing that little brat’s neck.

 

 

*

 

Hunter stood behind the large bar in Radcliffe’s living room.  He ran his finger along the labels on the pristine bottles lined up along the wall and chose one.  He lifted it from its place and pulled open the top.  He then took a glass and filled it with ice before pouring the amber liquid into it.  Shaking it a few times, he smiled and walked back to Holt…or Rainier or whoever the hell the woman was.  He didn’t really care.  He just needed whatever information she could share.  He stood for a moment looking down at her before holding out the glass.  She let out a disgusted sigh, took it and held it on her lap with both hands.

 

“You get nothing else until you guarantee I walk out of here.”  She repeated her demand.  Hunter shrugged his shoulders and looked to Bobbi.  Both knew Melinda May would be furious if they let this bitch get away, but if she had anything that could help them find Fitz it would be worth May’s wrath.

 

Bobbi thought for a moment then responded, her voice dull and threatening.  “We’ll give you an hour head start and that’s the best you get.”

 

Hunter turned back to the woman and smiled as he again sat on the table in front of her.  “You heard the boss, love.  S’up to you now, take it or leave it.  She is gorgeous,” he looked over his shoulder at his partner who smirked at him then back to the woman on the chair.  “Not so much when she can’t get what she wants.”  He leaned closer and whispered, “I wouldn’t push it, love.”

 

Rainier looked at Radcliffe with his tie stuffed in his mouth, eyes rolled back in his head.  She had nothing to lose.  Radcliffe was insane.  Morgan was an imbecile. She owed them nothing and she was sick of both of them.  Other than impersonating an agency representative she hadn’t committed a crime…hadn’t done anything really wrong.  She knew they couldn’t do anything to her just for what she intended to do…even the law would be on her side.  There were people…people who would help her.  In an hour, she could disappear and they’d never find her.  In two hours, she could be out of the country with enough money to start again. She nodded her agreement and took a sip of the drink she’d been given.

 

Twenty minutes later Hunter and Bobbi had dragged the unconscious Radcliffe to their car and stuffed him into the trunk.  Rainier had disappeared out the back door and into the darkness, leaving behind her car and everything else she’d carried into that house.

Hunter shoved his phone into his pocket.  “Damn thing keeps saying there’s no service.  I can’t get Mack.”  He took out his keys and pulled open the door.  “We can be there in less than fifteen minutes…no traffic this time of day…night…morning…whatever the hell time of day it is.”  He growled as he jammed the key into the ignition and revved the engine. 

 

Bobbi slammed the door as she dropped into the seat.  She placed her phone on the console.  “Coulson and May are on the other side of the Potomac…on their way.  If we can get Grant then all our efforts can be on finding Fitz…and the other two.”  Bobbi shook her head.  This was certainly a mess.

 

Hunter nodded, shifted into gear and stepped on the gas.  The car lurched forward a few feet.  The floppy grinding noise caused both occupants to exchange a shocked glance.  Throwing the car into park Hunter jumped out a few seconds before Bobbi.  His stream of swearing matched only by hers.

 

“Bloody hell, can we just get one feckin’ damn break!”  He bellowed as he bent over and slapped his hands on his knees then stood and threw his head back.  “It’s the suburbs for Jayzus sake!”  He kicked the car, twice and looked down the street at other cars suffering the same fate.

 

Bobbi paced back and forth on the opposite side of the street, stopping at the rear of the car and staring at the flat tire, knowing there was a matching one on the other side.  Vandals, vandals in one of the wealthiest counties in the country…she was as disgusted as her partner was. 

 

*

 

 Grant rubbed his eyes and glanced toward the east, the first rays of dawn had turned the sky a rosy color.  He hadn’t slept, mostly dozed and now the clang and bang of the trash collectors was enough to raise Satan himself.  He guessed it wouldn’t be good to have the blokes find him sleeping in his car although he’d already fabricated a tale to give them.  Sure, he was sleeping it off after his old lady refused to let him in last night.  Any man worth his salt would sympathize with that.  He righted the seat, stepped out of the car and stretched before walking to the curb. 

 

One of the public workers smiled at him from atop the truck.  He mock saluted back and ran a hand through his hair, turning away.  No sense letting anyone get too good a look at him.  He glanced at his watch…not quite six-thirty.  Damn! Still too much time to kill before he could get to work.  It was too early for a drink, not even a grocer would sell him a bottle before nine.  He hated this damn town.  He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked toward the intersection kicking aside a trash bin as he went.  A large yellow cat leapt from the shadow, hissing and spitting as it jumped to the railing and yowled at him.  Grant jumped a bit in surprise then swung at the animal.  It ducked once and swiped a dirty claw in his direction before leaping to the pavement and disappearing between the buildings.  He picked up a large bottle cap that had fallen from the trash and flung it after the cat, causing a rat-a-tat ricochet as it bounced against the walls.  Several lights came on in the nearby apartments.  He jammed his hands in his pockets again, ducked his head and continued down the street.  If he couldn’t get a drink, at least he could get some smokes.

 

*

 

Mack and Yoyo sat back in their SUV watching the sun being to light the horizon.  They’d spent the last five hours stuck in the same spot…half the time in silence and half in worn out arguments.  Mack pulled out his phone to check it again.  Yoyo snatched it away.

 

“Dios mió, Mack, even the rising of the sun is not going to change that!”  She was just as frustrated as he was. 

 

Mack glared but did not answer.  He opened the door and exited the SUV, watching other couples scream at one another as still more slept soundly in the quiet of their various vehicles.  He stretched his long, powerful body and stopped midway as the rising sun glinted off a familiar object in the distance.  He stuck his head in the open door.

 

“How much cash you have on you?”  He asked quickly, as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket.

 

“What?”  Yoyo scrunched up her face in confusion.  She scanned the area quickly looking for what he had seen that prompted him to need money.  She stepped out of the car and stood on tiptoes trying to see farther ahead.

 

“I’ve got an idea, but I need cash.  I’ve got two…no three…three fifty.”  He answered her quickly.

 

Yoyo laughed a nasal laugh.  “What are you going to buy with three dollars and fifty cents, big man?”  She pulled a wad of cash from her small bag and began counting.

 

Man raised an eyebrow.  “That’s three _hundred_ and fifty, chica.” He smiled holding up one bill.

 

“Hmmph,” she responded sarcastically.  “Here’s another four.”  She handed him the cash and waited for an explanation, which he did not offer.

 

Taking the cash from her, he motioned with his head.  “Come on.”  She hurried to match his stride.

 

Before they reached the car, she knew what he had in mind.  Mack tapped lightly on the window, still startling the young man inside.  He stared, wide-eyed at the large black man smiling back at him.  The girl in the passenger seat shrunk against the door with one hand on the handle, ready to bolt if necessary.  Mack motioned for the guy to roll down the window.  The young man dropped the window about half an inch. 

 

Mack rolled his eyes and smiled again.  “Hey, buddy,” he used the softest voice he could manage.  The guy in the guy simply nodded.  “I…ah…I was just admiring these bikes you’ve got on top.”  Mack reached up and tapped the roof of the car.  The man inside looked up at the ceiling as if he could see what Mack was doing.  “I’m…we’re,” he pointed to Yoyo and then back to himself.  “You see, we’re kind of in a bit of a bind and wondered if maybe we could possibly use them for a bit.” 

 

Now the guy in the car looked confused.  He turned up one side of his mouth and looked to the girl who was already shaking her head.

 

“Look, man, I’m not just asking to ride off with them.  I mean, look, I’ve got seven-fifty here and all I want to do is rent… _RENT_ …them for a couple hours.  You give me your address and I promise you’ll get them back.  Hell, man, I’ll buy you brand new bikes if you let me borrow these.”

 

The guy looked at the money in Mack’s hand and then at the girl who sat across from him.  She shrugged her shoulders, but kept her hand on the door handle.  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and chewed his lip, apparently deep in thought.  The girl merely watched.  Mack let out a long breath and said a quick, silent prayer.

 

“Come on, Mack,” Yoyo urged as she started walking back toward their vehicle.  “It was a good idea, but this guy thinks you are loco.  Leave him alone.”

 

Mack closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest.  He shook his head, shoved the money back into his pocket and followed her.  He was a few feet past the vehicle when the guy called to him.

 

“Hey, buddy…wait a minute.”  The young man was now standing outside the car, waving to Mack.  “Come back…”  He motioned for him to come toward him.

 

Mack stopped.  Yoyo was a least two cars ahead of him.  She too stopped when the young man called.  They looked at each other once and back tracked.

 

The guy was already unlatching the bicycles when Mack reached him.  “They aren’t new…not worth anywhere near seven-hundred dollars.”  He was shaking his head as the first bike was freed and he lifted down to the ground.  Mack held out the cash and the guy shook his head.  “I can’t take all that.  I figure you must be pretty desperate to want to bike it on the shoulder.  We considered it a couple hours ago.”  He pulled the second bike down and smiled at Yoyo as she took it from him.  “Figured it would be a big hassle coming back for the car, probably get fined for leaving it as well.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “Gears stick a bit on this one,” he tapped the bike closest to Mack.

 

“We’re not just taking these,” Mack insisted as Yoyo handed the guy a card from the Coulsons’ security agency.  She also gave him a pen and paper to provide his own information and waited while he scribbled it down.  “Take the cash, man,” Mack held it out again.  “You don’t know it but you’re probably saving a kid’s life.”  He pushed it at the guy again.

 

The guy held up his hands and shook his head.  “It’s too much, really.  How about two hundred and we call it even.  Shelly,” he nodded to the girl peeking out the rear window.  “She’ll probably go ballistic, but like I said they aren’t new and you look like you need them more than we do right now.”

 

Mack peeled off four-hundred and shoved it in the guy’s hand as he shook it rapidly.  “Take it for your trouble.”  He pushed the bike to the shoulder of the road and mounted it. 

 

Yoyo could not stifle the laugh at the large man on the skinny bike, but jumped on the second one and peddled after him.  They’d already pulled their SUV on to the shoulder and stuck a white rag in the window indicating it was a disabled vehicle.

 

They were less than five miles from the exit and hopefully closer to cell service.  It would take a lot longer to reach the apartment on Q Street.  With any luck, the kids would still be there when they arrived.

 

*

 

“Damn!” Coulson mumbled under his breath.  “Where the hell are all these people going?  It’s not even day light.  I know some people try to beat the rush, but this is ridiculous.”

 

“Something must be wrong,” May observed.  “It’s never like this so early.”

 

Phil pulled the car to a sharp left turning down an alley that ran behind the businesses.  “Short cut,” he remarked to a sulking May.  He slowed but did not stop at intersections, ignoring the blaring horns as he passed.  May shook her head then thrust out her hands to brace herself as the car came to a screeching halt. 

 

Phil shrugged his shoulders and looked at his sullen wife with a guilty grin.  “Hmmph, garbage day…what’dya know?”  He gently tooted the horn, hoping the driver would pull far enough ahead so that he could maneuver his car through the next intersection and continue, but there was no response.  Even the guy throwing a can into the hopper refused to so much as look in his direction.  Everyone looked down on these guys, but truth was they ruled the roads on garbage day.  If that guy refused to move there wasn’t much he could do.  Who was going to approach and argue with someone who’d been tossing everyone else’s trash for the last couple of hours?

 

Melinda closed her eyes and let out a long angry breath…yes, Melinda May was capable of taking and releasing an angry breath and her husband recognized it.  He hit the horn a bit harder and the guy operating the crushing device answered with a one-finger salute.  Phil smiled and nodded at the guy, threw the car into reverse and sped backward through the narrow alley to the last intersection.  The car’s tires squealed as he swung into the street, spun it around and sped down a one-way street.  Horns blared and every swear word in five languages echoed in the still sleepy neighborhood.  Phil looked both ways at the light and continued through the red onto the main thorough fare. Apparently, the traffic congestion hadn’t yet reached this point.  He wasn’t even aware of the next two lights as he raced toward Q Street.  On a good day, with normal traffic it would have been a twenty-minute drive.  They’d already wasted twenty-five.

 

Melinda screamed, “Tíngzhǐ! Xiǎoxīn!”

 

Phil slammed on the brakes, stopping inches from the orange pylons that marked the road construction.  He had gone past all the warning signs without noticing, his mind on only one thing.

 

_“Gāisǐ de nǐ, Phil Coulson, nǐ xiǎng shā sǐ wǒmen ma? Nǐ dàodǐ zài zuò shénme? Líkāichē, ràng wǒ kāi chē!”_

_Melinda was swearing in Mandarin.  That was never a good sign.  He didn’t catch it all.  She was speaking too fast and was past livid, past terror, past whatever point a mother went when frantically searching for the children she could not protect.  She was already out of the car before he turned to look at her.  His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his elbows locked in place as the fear that accompanies an almost accident slowly drained and he was able to think again._ _Did she say she wanted to drive?_

_His door was jerked open by a still rambling Melinda, but now he could understand nothing she was saying.  She grabbed his arm and pulled his hand free.  He used it to grab hers._

_“No, Mel…” he spoke calmly, knowing his lack of anger would only fuel hers.  “You need to stop.  Stop and take a breath, Mel.”  He was out of the car, standing in front of her, holding her shoulders while her arms continued to flail wildly.  She swore and cursed him in her mother tongue, glaring at him as if she did not recognize the man she loved.  He shook her gently.  “Melinda, you have to stop…just…stop.”  He pulled her to his chest and held her tightly.  She fought his embrace, pounding her fists against him while twisting her body in an effort to escape.  He braced himself for the onslaught of the anger she used to mask her fear._

_“Mel,” he spoke quietly, close to her ear.  His voice was barely above a breath.  “Mel, we’ll find them.  I know we will and they will be safe.  Trust me, Mel.  You have to stop.  We both have to stop.”_

_Her fists stopped pounding and rested on his shoulders. He felt her go limp in his arms as her ramblings turned slowly into sobs and her forehead fell against his chest.  He held her closer and kissed her cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears.  “We are going to get Grant.  There’s no one at Mrs. Triplett’s place.  Hunter and Bobbi are probably already there.  Talbot’s got his best people out searching as well.  He’s only nine, Mel, he can’t outsmart us all.  He’s got nowhere to go.  Hell, he might be on his way home by now.”  He added the last part to convince himself more than his wife._

_“Dear God, Phil, if anything happens to any of them…”  She let the rest of the comment fade as she buried her head in her husband’s chest and collected her wits.  It took a lot to bring Melinda May to her knees.  She never realized how much four small needy people could hold on to so much of her heart.  She never knew she could care so much for the same four, never knew that such vulnerable imps could crush her strongest defenses.  Their power, combined and individually, left her powerless._

_Phil hugged her again, kissed her temple and let out a relieved breath.  The storm had passed.  She was back.  “As soon as we have Grant, we’ll let the authorities know and the kids will be back by suppertime…you can reheat that Shepherd’s pie and we’ll celebrate.”_

_She backed up with her hands still resting on his chest and gave him ‘that look’, then quickly brushed away the latent tears.  “Pff,” she grinned as she turned back to the car, heading for the driver’s door.  “The last thing that little man’s going to want to do is celebrate.”  She glared at her husband, who raised his eyebrows and swallowed hard imagining his son’s fate._

_He caught her as she attempted to slide into the driver’s seat.  “Uh uh, Mel, I’ll drive.”_

_She looked from his hand on her elbow to his eyes and glared.  “Twice, Phil, twice you almost slammed us into whatever the hell was in front of us…”_

_He nodded and smiled that goofy smile.  “Yeah, but we’re both better now.”  He slid one arm around her waste, still holding her elbow with the other hand and escorted her to the opposite side of the car.   Once she was seated, he closed the door and smiled at her again through the window before hurrying to climb behind the wheel.  She glared at him over her eyebrows, but let him win…for now._

_*_

_Jamie Grant had waited long enough.  He didn’t care if nine was a more convenient time for knocking someone up.  He stood across the street and watched several folks come out of the place waiting for just the right one.  Already having approached the door he was aware of the security and difficulty in just walking into the place.  He paced to the corner and back when he spied just what he was looking for…an elderly woman dragging one of those carts for carrying groceries.  He couldn’t imagine where she might be off to so blasted early in the morning and he didn’t much care, but helping her out with her travels would benefit him as well._

_He watched her drop her keys into her bag and like most gals her age, she neglected to zip or button or snap or whatever needed to be done to keep it closed.   ‘Easy pickins’, he told himself as he hurried across the street and walked a few feet behind her as she approached the bus stop.  She hustled down on to the bench after looking down the street to see if the large vehicle was in sight.  He leaned against the post that held the overhang and smiled at her.  She smiled back._

_The wait wasn’t long, but seemed like hours to Grant whose waiting time was exhausted.  The bus came to a stop at the curb letting out that screechy swoosh that buses do as they halt and the doors open.  He stepped back to allow her to enter with her metal cart._

_“Let us give ya a hand then, mum.”  He smiled as he took the cart and stood behind her to guide her up the few steps._

_When she reached the top, he handed up the folded cart.  “Thank you, young man.”  She smiled._

_“My pleasure,” he answered in his best brogue.  He took a step up and reached into his pocket for fare.  “Blimey!”  He exclaimed with a fright.  “I’ve gotten my purse.”  He stepped back off the bus and waved the driver on.  “I’ll catch the next.”  The woman smiled and waved as the doors closed and the bus pulled into the light early morning traffic._

_Grant watched as it disappeared then smiled and tossed the keys he had pinched from the old gal’s bag into the air and caught them as they fell back down.  He saluted the bus then turned and walked slowly back toward the apartment building._

_*_

_Trip looked through the dusty window curtains above the sink in his grandmother’s kitchen.  The sun was just peeking over the horizon.  The Coulsons had helped him empty the cupboards of anything that would spoil months ago so there was little to offer the kids in the way of breakfast.  He pulled out his billfold and counted the cash left in it.  He needed at least ten for all of them to take the Red Line back to the station nearest home.  They’d have to forgo the buses and walk from the apartment to the metro at Dupont Circle.  It wasn’t far.  The little guys could do it and if Fitz put up a fuss…well he’d just throw the little dope over his shoulder and carry him._

_“Yeah, Antoine, that’d be fine…big black brute draggin’ a little girl and haulin’ a screaming kid down Q at six a.m…be in cuffs by six-fifteen.”  He shook his head, shoved his wallet back in his pocket and pulled a box of some kind of flakey cereal from the back of the cupboard.  After all the fares he’d have to pay that left four dollars and seventy-two…no three, seventy-three cents. It would not buy much.  Maybe they could share a McMeal or grab a donut in the Metro Station.  A soft sound from behind caused him to turn.  Jemma stood in the doorway with Fitz’s hand tightly in her grip._

_She yawned and rubbed one eye.  “It’s not quite morning yet, Trip.  What are you looking for?”_

_He smiled at the duo and shrugged his shoulders.  “Thought I could find something to eat before we get going,” he scratched his head and turned up one side of his mouth.  “Not much here but this box of flakey-o’s and no milk.”  He shook the box.  A few morsels rattled around inside.  “Probably kinda stale anyway,” he grinned as he set it on the counter.  Sitting down at the table, the boy motioned for Jemma and Fitz to sit as well.  As soon as both kids were seated across from him, he pulled his wallet out again and spread the cash in front of him, allowing them to see it.  “Sorry, guys but I guess I didn’t think this part out as much as I should have.”  He frowned at their trusting faces.  “We need ten for train fare to Rockville.”  He picked up the ten-dollar bill from the table and set it aside.  “That includes the transfer for the bus back to River Road.  The rest we have to walk.”  He fingered the coins on the table and spread the four ones in a fan.  “This is all I’ve got left.”_

_Fitz leaned back, stuffed a hand into his pocket then lurched forward and placed a crumbled wad of cash and a few coins on the table.  He stood quickly to retrieve the quarter that rolled to the floor.  Smiling triumphantly at his siblings, he boasted.  “I’ve got a bit myself.”  Trip picked up the ball of cash and smoothed it out on the table.  “There’s thirteen dollars and fifty-seven more,” he smiled at his older brother._

_Trip stared for a beat then began counting the money.  “Eighteen dollars and thirty cents,” the ‘twins’ announced in unison._

_The older boy smiled and shook his head wondering if they practiced doing that or if it just came naturally to genius kids.  “Okay then,” he grinned as he straightened out the money and tucked it into his wallet.  “Guess we can take the T2 back to St. Barts and walk the rest of the way.  Just need to reserve,” he paused for a moment calculating in his head._

_“Five dollars and twenty-five cents,” again the duet announced._

_“That leaves thirteen dollars and five cents for breakfast,” Fitz grinned.  “We can certainly find something suitable for that amount and Krispie Kreme is just up the stairs from the Metro.”  He rubbed his tummy and ran his tongue along his lips._

_“Oh, Fitz, mama would never approve of so much sugar for breakfast.  You know that.”  Jemma scolded._

_Fitz’s smiled faded into a pouty frown as Trip laughed, “that will be the least of our worries, girl.  We can get a lot of donuts for thirteen dollars, but we better keep some reserve, just in case.”_

_Jemma nodded her agreement as Fitz scratched his temple. “Just in case what?”   The little boy wondered._

_“We haven’t been having the best of luck, have we?”  Trip shook his head.  He looked across the table into the living room and at the phone on the table near his grandmother’s favorite chair, pretty sure the service had been turned off months ago.  The smartest thing to do right now would be to call Phil and Melinda and let them know everyone was okay.  Sure, there’d be a lot of yelling, but in the end, they’d be safe and sound.  Trip thought again.  There’d be no one home in Bethesda, he was sure of that.  The Coulsons and their agents had probably been scouring the neighborhood all night in search of him and Jemma.  His plan of having Fitz back before breakfast was certainly not coming through.  “Well, if we’re gonna catch the train to Shady Grove and get home we better start moving.  You two…you…well…do what you need to do so we can get out of here.”_

_Jemma smiled at the blush on both boys’ faces.  “You don’t have to be embarrassed Trip.  It is a natural body function and we are both old enough to know we should use the lavatory before we leave.  Aren’t we, Fitz?”  She jabbed him with her elbow as he turned to avoid looking directly at her.  Jemma rolled her eyes and slid off the chair.  “Well, I guess I shall be first to freshen up a bit and you two can just wait.”  She finished with a little bob of her head as she turned down the hall toward the bathroom.  The boys waited until the door clicked closed before bursting into laughter._

_That laughter cut off with a snap at the soft knock on the door._


	41. Courage Means Being Scared to Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes to a head as Grant finds the kids and the crew races to rescue them

Courage Means Being Scared to Death

Trip raised a finger to his lips motioning for Fitz to stay quiet as he stood and walked slowly to the door. The knock came again and then the buzzer sounded much longer than necessary. The bathroom door opened and Trip put out both hands to stop and silence Jemma before she spoke. He tiptoed to the door and looked through the peek hole. Whoever was at the door was standing out of view. He turned and shook his head at the two worried children now standing in the living room. He walked back toward them careful not to make a sound and motioned for them to follow him back into what used to be his bedroom. He pushed both inside and stood in the doorway.

“Everyone knows my gram isn’t here.” He looked back over his shoulder as the buzzer went off again and the knocking got a little louder. “Must be someone new,” he whispered. “Just be real quiet and they’ll go away.”

“Perhaps someone,” Fitz started speaking and stopped abruptly as both siblings sushed him. He started again in a soft whisper. “Perhaps someone heard us and knows we’re here.” Jemma looked to Trip for his reaction, but the boy shook his head.

“They’d call security and have it checked out.” He looked again, as whoever it was now rattled the doorknob. “Security’d use a master key to come in and check. They know the situation with gram.” Trip froze as he listened to the soft clicking of something in the lock. He looked to the security bolt above the knob and the chain, both of which he had failed to latch last night. He pushed the kids farther into the room and guessed at whether he could get to the door and latch them before who or what was on the other side managed to get inside.  
“You two stay here.” He commanded hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “Stay here no matter what.”

Jemma was already crying, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. “What are you going to do, Trip?” She reached and grabbed his arm, holding on with a tight squeeze.

Trip rested his hand on top of hers and looked into Fitz’s wide eyes. “I’m gonna see what they want. If they don’t know anything about gram then I’ll just get rid of them. Heck, maybe they just have the wrong apartment.” He smiled despite the fact that the bottom had just fallen out of his stomach. Reaching out he grabbed Fitz’s hand then placed Jemma’s in it. “You stay here and you stay together.” He looked at the little boy standing in front of him. “Don’t you let go of her, Fitz.” Fitz shook his head and swallowed hard, trying desperately to be as brave as his big brother. Trip smiled and nodded once at them before stepping into the hall and closing the door.

The door rattled again. The knob jiggled a bit and the soft clicking noises started a second time. Trip stepped to the door and quietly slid the bolt into the latch but not without it making a dull knock as it engaged. The clicking stopped and there was a firm quick knock. Trip jumped back then leaned forward to peer into the peek hole but again the person was out of sight.

“Hello,” came a man’s voice just outside the door. “Mrs. Triplett? Hello?” 

Trip wracked his brain in an effort to try to recognize who might be looking for his grandmother. Who did not know what had happened or why she was not there? He pressed himself against the wall next to the door and tried to think of a way out. The back door led only to the garbage shoots and he’d have to get pretty desperate to drop his little brother and sister eight floors to the dumpsters in the basement…dumpsters that weren’t there since it was garbage day. There was the fire escape accessible out of his grandmother’s bedroom window. He was pretty sure he could take the slippery metal stairs to the ladder at the bottom but wasn’t sure it was safe for Jemma or Fitz, but it was their only option. 

Another rap on the door brought him back to the present. “Mrs. Triplett, I need to speak with you. It’s rather important. It will only take a moment, I promise.” The man sounded sincere but Trip’s heart was pounding against his chest so loudly he could barely hear anything else.

“She can’t come to the door. She’s not well.” Trip called out. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in.”

There was a long quiet pause.

James Grant could not believe his luck. The kid was here. This would be easier than he imagined. He wouldn’t even have to deal with the old lady. All he had to do was get the kid to open the door and he’d have the upper hand. He thought for only a moment, but James Grant was used to thinking on his feet. He lowered his voice and spoke carefully and calmly.

“I’m sorry, young man, I wasn’t aware Mrs. Triplett was under the weather. I have some disturbing news. It is important I see her.” He waited but the kid did not answer. “Okay, well I really didn’t want to have to say this through the door but the…the Coulsons…”

On the other side of the door Trip stepped away from the wall and listened…a different fear gripped him. He moved closer and spoke through the door. “What about them?”

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident. It’s not good.” Grant used his most sorrowful tone.

Trip swallowed hard and tried to slow his breathing. This could not be happening, not after everything else. “Who are you and why aren’t the police here to tell her?” Something in the boy made him realize that someone in authority would come, not just some guy. 

Again, there was a pause…

“I’m sorry, young man, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Reverend Clarke, the police asked me to make this visit. They thought it would come better from me.” He paused listening for the boy’s response.

Trip blinked back tears. ‘A minister…here to tell his grandmother about an accident…that could only mean they were…were.’ He rested his forehead against the door and let the sob he tried to hold back escape. He raised his fist and softly thumped the wall a few times before standing up straight and taking a deep breath. At least he wouldn’t have to tell the kids alone. A minister would know what to do. He reached up unlatched the door, clicked the lock and started to turn the knob. “Are they….”

As soon as the door opened a slit, Grant slammed it back and burst into the apartment knocking Trip backward onto the floor. The man quickly closed the door and stomped his foot down hard on the boy’s wrist, pinning him to the floor.

*

Hunter sprinted back to the Radcliffe driveway, and with the expertise of a professional had hotwired the Lincoln and raced back to Bobbi. Together they pulled Radcliffe from the trunk of their sedan and pushed him into the back seat of the long black car. Within minutes, they were speeding toward the city. Bobbi grabbed her phone as its ring tone broke the silence in the car.

“On our way…Coulson?” She used few words to make a point and hung up. “Mack is sure the kids are at Trip’s old apartment.” She glanced at the digital clock on the dash. “By now, Grant is there as well.”

Hunter pressed down on the gas. In the back seat, a now conscious Radcliffe smiled.

*

“Hello there laddie…don’t think we’ve been introduced.” Grant glared at Trip as he grimaced in pain struggling to rise. “No, no don’t get up.” He put more weight on the boy’s arm, leaning forward on his leg. He smiled down at the boy. “Friend of mine’s been looking for you, but before we go to see him, you’re gonna help me find the one I’ve been searching for in this forsaken country.” He leaned on his leg with both hands.

Trip held his breath and reached for his pinned arm with the opposite hand. He stared up at the man who was no minister. It had to be that Grant guy…the one that had Fitz so freaked out. Up until this point, the guy was only a name. Looking into the man’s hateful eyes, Trip could understand the little guy’s fear. He refused to back down, glared at the man but refused to answer him. 

“Nothin’ ta say then, huh? Well, suppose I let ya up then.” Grant chuckled as eased back a little then pressed back causing the boy to gasp quickly. “No funny business, mind ya.” The man stepped back and offered a hand to Trip who refused the help. He shrugged and waited for the boy to get to his feet.

Trip stood and rubbed his wrist with the opposite hand. He wriggled his fingers and shook his hand then pulled it to his chest and massaged it again. “Not to worry, lad. If I wanted it broken you’d be pushin’ the bone back under yer skin.” Grant laughed as he grasped Trip’s upper arm and drove him to the nearest chair, roughly turning the boy and slamming him into it.

“What do you want, Grant?” Trip barked as he attempted to rise only to be knocked back by a swift punch in the chest. He coughed hard as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’ll do the askin’ boy.” Grant snarled, unsure how the kid knew him yet he didn’t care. He paced a bit in front of Trip taking in the state of the apartment. It was apparent no one had lived in it for quite a while. Radcliffe must have gotten bad information. The guy was a real nutter, but on the other hand, the kid was here. “Where’s my kid?” He fired at Trip as he stopped in front of him.

“What kid?” Trip fired back. “I’m the only one here, my gram’s visiting a neighbor…she’ll be back soon.”

Grant pulled a wooden object from his pocket and clicked it once. A shiny blade flicked out with a snap. “You better hope she doesn’t, then laddie. She might just walk in on something she shouldn’t. Probably be the last thing she’d walk in on though.” He moved closer to Trip holding the blade close to his chin before flicking it closed and stepping back. “Now, let’s try again. Where’s Fitz?”

Trip pulled himself up straight in the chair and laughed. “Fitz? What the hell kinda name is Fitz? Ya lookin for your cat?” He laughed again.

Grant kicked the boy hard in the knee. “I hear ya like that basketball game everyone here in the states is all wild over…won’t be much of a player with a crushed knee…or two…then, would you?” The boy grabbed his knee with both hands and fought to contain the tears brimming in his eyes. Grant reached down and squeezed the same knee with his large hand causing Trip to grit his teeth to stop the scream he swallowed. “Now, where_is_Fitz?” He squeezed harder and a small groan escaped the boy in the chair.

“I…I haven’t…seen…him…since they….moved out…” Trip spoke between short breaths.

Grant roughly pushed the boy’s knee aside and quickly slapped him across the face causing the Trip’s head to toss roughly to the side. He slammed his nose into the hard side of the chair feeling the warm ooze of blood as it ran across his lip and into his mouth. He quickly swiped the back of his hand under it and looked at the red streak on his wrist. 

“WRONG!” Grant roared and moved close enough that Trip could smell the stale cigarettes on his breath. “Don’t push me, ya little git, Radcliffe didn’t say anything about bringing you back to him in one piece and when I’m done with you I’ll find that little Asian lass and she’ll not make it to him all in one either. I’ll snap her little spine like a dry twig.”

Trip drew a breath, he knew this guy could never get to Skye. Skye was safe with the Coulsons, with Mack and Yoyo, with Bobbi and Hunter…no one in their right mind would go up against that crew. Of course, this guy was about as far from his right mind as anyone could get. He stared into the man’s face, taking short fast breaths.

“Thinkin’ about taking me on are ya there lad…” He stood up and motioned with his fingers for Trip to get up. “Come on then, let’s see what ya got.”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Fitz screamed as he shot from the room and plowed into the man standing above Trip. The shock sent Grant back a step gasping for breath as the boy’s head rammed into his stomach. The man struggled to keep his balance as the little boy pummeled him with his small fists. He continued stepping backward as Fitz followed kicking and punching all the way. 

Trip stood from the chair half-shocked, half-incensed that Fitz had not done what he was told. He wobbled on his injured knee but righted himself in time to catch and hold Jemma as she made to help Fitz battle the monster that had haunted his dreams for so long. Both were in awe at the string of obscenities that poured from their little brother’s lips. 

Grant caught himself on the edge of the sofa before toppling backward over it. He pushed himself forward and grabbed the boy by the back of the collar yanking him back. Fitz continued swinging at air as Grant dropped him then grabbed his upper arms and shook him hard. The boy’s head flopped back and forth. 

Grant coughed a few times then smiled. “Hello there Fitzie. It’s been a long while hasn’t it?”

Fitz froze for a second staring at the man. His breath came quick and short through clenched teeth as he glared back at the man. The boy’s hands were drawn into tight fists, his knuckles white in fury. He jerked his head back then squirmed, kicked and struggled to get away. “Let go of me you damn, feckin’, bloody, no good, murderin’ ass.” He kicked again landing a strike on the man’s shin. 

Grant turned and threw the boy on to the couch. He breathed quickly and glared at the boy as he scrambled to get back to his feet. The man backhanded the boy once sending him reeling backward and leaving an angry red print across his cheek. Fitz fell back, pressing his hand to his face. Grant laughed. “I’ve waited a long time boy, quite a long time to give ya what ya got comin.” He glared at the child as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his waist in one quick yank then folded it over itself and snapped it wickedly. “Wore this special, just for you, laddie…” He flicked the belt letting it land inches from Fitz who jumped in the opposite direction. Jemma screamed as Trip reached to grab the man’s arm.

With one punch, Trip hit the floor and Jemma screamed a second time. “You wretched, wretched man!” She shrieked at Grant through her tears as she rushed to Trip, falling on her knees next to him. 

“You stay right there little girl. You can watch and then it’d be your turn, cuz I owe you a few of the best as well.” He snapped the belt again at Fitz, this time to the opposite side.

Jemma stood with her arms stiff at her sides, her hands rolled into tight little fists. “You leave him alone you big, bloody, brute.” She screamed at the man’s back as he advanced on Fitz, once again snapping the thin belt against itself. The girl looked frantically in all directions and grabbed the nearest object she could. It was square and amber, heavy in her grip but she screamed again and threw it with all the strength she could muster. “Leave him alone, you bastard!”

The object sailed across the small space between them catching Grant of guard. It struck him just above the eyebrow as he turned. The man fell back as blood spurted from the gash that the object opened. Fitz rolled over twice, fell to the floor and scrambled across the carpet on his hands and knees. Trip groaned and pushed himself upright as both kids tried to pull him to his feet.

“You’ve got to get up Trip, please.” Jemma begged her older brother. She swiped the tears from her face, barely able to see through them. Fitz tugged at the older boy as well, too overcome to speak or to cry. Grant moaned from where he landed between the coffee table and the sofa. Jemma could see him trying to get to his feet. She pulled harder on Trip’s hand.

Trip shook his head a bit and rubbed his cheekbone. It was hard to open his eye but he could hear his siblings begging him to stand and somewhere he could hear that creep, Grant, moaning. He pulled up on the chair next to him and got to his feet. Jemma and Fitz quickly grabbed one of their Trip’s arms pulled it around their shoulders in order to help their wobbly brother to the door. Even if they couldn’t make it to the elevator, they could make enough noise to bring every neighbor into the hall. Trip reached for the knob, freedom only a few feet away.

Thwack! The knife Grant had shown Trip earlier slammed into the door a few inches above the boy’s head. The children turned slowly to see a bloody faced Grant glaring at them. He held a second knife in one hand and a kerchief to his brow with the other. “Next one is for you, boy!” He growled at Trip. “Then the little’ens are all mine.”

*

Phil pulled the SUV to a screeching halt in front of the apartment building just as Hunter and Bobbi jumped from the Lincoln on the opposite side of the street. Coulson and May were halfway up the stairs as Hunter reached the curb. 

“Wait!” Bobbi shouted from the street, a few feet behind Hunter. “Jemma and Trip are up there.”

It was all the explanation they needed. Phil was banging on the door as Melinda lay on the buzzer. 

The security guard stood at the inside door and peered at the people demanding to be let inside. He stared for a moment contemplating calling the police before he recognized the former tenants. Geez, if they forgot something it must be awfully important. He pulled his keys and opened the inside door, but stopped before opening the outer. These four people seemed crazed, maybe hyped up on some kind of drugs or alcohol or both. He shook his head. It was a little early in the morning, wasn’t it?

“What do you want?” He asked, having second thoughts about letting them into the building. Their voices were muffled through the thick glass. He could not ever remember Mr. Coulson or his wife looking that fanatical and the other two looked even worse. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders then turned and started back toward the inside door.

“Greg!” Coulson called after him, realizing how they must look. He calmed himself and smiled. “Greg, please open the door. It’s okay Greg, we just need to get up to the Triplett apartment.” 

The young guard stopped and contemplated his next move. The Coulsons were always kind to him, always said hello, gave him those great tickets to see the Orioles for Christmas last year…maybe they really did need something urgently. He smiled and moved back to the door unlocking it then pushing it open. The four people outside moved into the small foyer quickly.

“How’ve ya been, Mr. C?” Greg smiled. “How’s the new place? Enjoying the suburban life? How’s the kiddoes? Specially that little one, she’s a real spitfire, that one.” He rambled on as he slowly flipped through the keys. “Never forget when she flushed that mitten down the john,” he laughed as he pulled one key from the others and raised it to the lock. “Every commode on seven was backed up for hours…” The key didn’t work and he began flipping through them again.

Phil snickered a bit, jumpy with impatience. Melinda clenched and unclenched her fists, closed her eyes swearing or praying in Mandarin. Phil was sure which.

“Wasn’t so funning at the time, was i…”

Hunter swiped the keys from the man and laughed a fake laugh. “Not to the people on seven, I’ll bet.” He quipped as he jammed the key into the lock, pushed the door open and dropped the keys back into the man’s still open hand before he had a chance to react. “Thanks, mate.” Hunter quipped with no emotion as he and Bobbi slipped into the building followed by May.

Phil put his hand on the guard’s shoulder. He spoke softly, as if explaining something to a small child. “Greg, my kids are up there and they’re in trouble. I need you to call this number and tell the man who answers that I’m here and so is Grant, then I need you to call the police and get everyone off the eighth floor.” He patted the man’s shoulder and gave a quick nod before running to join the others on the elevator.

Greg watched for a moment, looked at the card Phil had pressed into his hand and quickly grabbed the inside door before it shut.

 

*

Trip pushed the kids behind him and raised his hands before him. “Okay…okay, man whatever you say. I’ll go with you. Just…just leave them alone.”

Grant laughed out loud. “Leave them alone? I came thousands of miles just to give them all the attention I have to give.” He tilted the knife up and down motioning for them to move away from the door.

“Come on, man, they’re just little kids. You scared them enough, just let them go. You got me, that’s all Radcliffe wants.” Trip bargained as he moved toward the kitchen, Jemma and Fitz moving as one with him.

Grant released a spitty laugh. “Scare them? Oh, hell lad, I plan on doing a lot more than scaring the little bastards.” He sneered as he dabbed at the wound that would not stop bleeding. “Look at this!” He held out the bloody rag. “You don’t think I’ll let that little limey bitch get away with this, do you?” His voice was getting wild as he began to lose what was left of his minimal control. “And that one,” He pointed the knife toward Fitz. “If it weren’t for him and his stupid, whore mother none of us would be here.”

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK!” Fitz demanded as he brazenly stepped forward holding his small fists in front of him. “MY MAW WAS NOTHING OF THE SORT AND YOU KILLED HER YOU BLOODY BASTARD!”

“Oooo, the pup has teeth, now does he…not such a little girlie boy since you got all Americanized, are ya then?.” He laughed at Fitz’s bravado. “Did the little git tell all his new family how he would wet himself every time I threatened to use the strap on his little skuddy arse? No? I’ll bet he didn’t or maybe the little barra didn’t have ta, maybe he just demonstrated a bit.”

“You shut your rat-arsed gob, ya glaikit bastard.” Fitz reverted to his street lingo facing his worst fear as he advanced on Grant. 

Before Trip could pull him back, Grant snatched the boy and held him against his chest, the knife pressed against his neck. “I think it’s time you shut yer feckin’ mouth, laddie.” He looked Trip in the eye and smirked. “Now, send that pretty little thing over here before I slit this one from ear to ear.” He squeezed Fitz around his chest holding both the boys arms tightly at his sides. Fitz let out a small moan but defiantly kicked his feet. Grant whispered close to him. “Kick me, lad, and I’ll have yer ear.” He ran the knife along the front of the boy’s ear causing a tiny scratch.

Jemma gasped at the sight and quickly stepped from behind Trip. Before the man could reach for her the door burst open with a resounding crash. Hunter and Coulson entered, guns drawn. Bobbi and May followed close behind. Trip pulled Jemma back into his arms and pulled her back until they both hit the wall. The four agents spread out across the small living room as Grant backed into the kitchen using Fitz as a human shield. He held the knife against the boy’s throat.

“NOBODY MOVE!” Grant ordered as he backed into the kitchen sink. He looked from one adversary to the next and smiled widely. “Déjà vu, huh? Seems like we’ve had this standoff before…where’s your large black friend…busy, is he?”

Coulson took a half step forward. “Let the boy go, Grant and nobody gets hurt.” His voice was calm and even, betraying the fact that his gut was twisted into a tight knot.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no…somebody is going to get hurt here today, Coulson. We all know that.” Grant shot back, adjusting his hold on the boy. Fitz squirmed valiantly.

“It’s your choice, Grant. We can all walk out of here.” Coulson continued, keeping his gun trained on the man.

“Right, that’s right,” Grant laughed again. “All of you walk out and back to your nice fancy lives, free and clear. I walk out in cuffs and right back into a cell.” He swallowed hard as he rocked nervously from foot to foot and hefted the small boy up on his waist. He quickly wiped his nose on his shoulder and continued. “That is just not gonna happen, Coulson. Then ya are right about one thing, it is my choice. I can either snap this little git’s neck or slit his throat. I haven’t got much to lose then do I?”

Melinda stepped next to her husband, looking directly into her son’s eyes. “Bùyào dòng, érzi, lěngjìng zìjǐ.” The little boy nodded and let his body go limp.

“Ah, now ain’t that sweet? Grant pressed his mouth close to Fitz’s ear. “Speakin’ to ya in that ying-yang language and you understandin’ and all.” The boy turned away. “That your new maw, then Fitzie? Sure Emilie would be green with envy. This one’s a real looker. Maybe, I’ll just snap her neck as well.” Fitz whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Bùyào tīng tā dehuà, Fitz, zhǐyào tīng wǒ dehuà. Kànzhe wǒ.” Melinda ignored the man, speaking only to her son. The little boy nodded, opened his eyes and stared into his mother’s eyes. She smiled slightly. He mirrored her.

Bobbi move toward Trip and Jemma, waving them toward her. Trip was still plastered against the wall, one eye swollen shut. He held Jemma close. She had twisted in his arms and buried her face in his midsection. Her arms were wrapped tightly around him. Although she made no sound, the trembling of her body revealed her sobbing. 

“HEY!” Grant shouted at Bobbi. “I said nobody move and that includes them.” He nodded at the two children at the wall. “Because all of you are going to clear a path and all of us,” he pointed the knife at Trip and Jemma then to himself and Fitz. “All of us are leaving, right Fitzie.”

Hunter took a step and pulled back the slide on his pistol. “That means you too, Brit.” Grant spoke through his teeth without turning toward the man.

“Nobody’s going anywhere, Grant. We end this here…today.” Coulson was losing patience. He felt Melinda behind him, sliding her hand beneath his jacket and easing the gun from his belt. He knew her plan, as did Bobbi who watched from the corner of her eye. 

“You’re right, Phil. It is Phil, isn’t it? Do you mind me calling you that, Phil?” He grinned. “This does end today because tomorrow you’ll be plannin’ a wake for your baby boy here and I’ll be off to potter’s field.” Jemma turned to look over her shoulder and sobbed loudly before Trip turned her back and wrapped his arms gently around her head. He bent and kissed her softly, shushing her quietly. Grant laughed at his actions. “Only sad thing is I can’t take that one as well, but ole psycho Radcliffe’ll have the big one, if not by me…he’ll find some other fool to do his dirty work.” He looked to Trip. “There’s no place you can hide, boy.” His gaze turned maniacal as he turned back to Phil hoping to break him. “Who knows maybe Radcliffe’s already got his hands around that little China baby’s neck, just squeezin’ the life outta her.” He laugh wickedly even though he failed to illicit the reaction he hoped for from Phil.

Melinda stood behind her husband, speaking softly to Fitz. “Bì shàng yǎnjīng, Fitz, xiànzài guānbì tāmen. Bùyào kàn. Wǒ ài nǐ wǒ měilì de nánhái. Xiāngxìn wǒ.”

Fitz looked into his mother’s eyes. He nodded once and closed his eyes. “Wǒ ài nǐ, mama,” he whispered.

“Well, isn’t that just the sw…”

“NOW!” Coulson roared as he dropped to the floor.

Melinda raised the gun and squeezed the trigger.

Bobbi dived forward grabbing Trip and Jemma and pulling them around the corner onto the floor of Trip’s bedroom. They landed with Jemma wedged securely between them. She leaned over covering both kids protectively, with her body.

Hunter leapt over the sofa as the sound of May’s pistol exploded in the small apartment.

Fitz felt the warm spray hit his face as he dropped to the floor, barely touching it before he was in Hunter’s arms being swept away from the carnage of Grant’s lifeless body.

May was a second behind Hunter grabbing a towel from the oven’s handle as she took her son into her arms and quickly wiped Grant’s blood from his face. The little boy stiffened for a half second before taking in the smell of his mother, her touch, her embrace. He opened his eyes and looked into hers before wrapping his arms around her neck and letting the sobs he had held for so long have their freedom.

Bobbie stood and helped Trip to his feet as Phil rushed into the room scooping Jemma into his arms and wrapping the boy in a tight embrace. The little girl wrapped herself in her father’s arms and sobbed mightily. Phil carried her and steered Trip out to the living room then slid all of them down to the floor next to his wife and youngest son.

Fitz turned his head from where he had buried it in Melinda’s neck. “Da,” he whispered as he reached out and wrapped one arm around the man’s neck pulling him closer. Phil leaned into his wife and son, as Melinda wrapped one arm around Jemma and he pulled Trip into the crazy family hug. 

Bobbi tossed her head toward the door, motioning to Hunter to give them a bit of privacy. They made it to the door before Talbot and three armed soldiers attempted to storm into the apartment. “Afraid you missed all the action, mate.” Hunter shook his head as he passed. He took a few steps into the hall and then stepped back, “there is a bit of a clean-up needed in the kitchen that needs a bit of attention. You might want to see to that.”

Talbot glared at the pair as they moved down the hall, then motioned for his men to take care of the scene inside.

*

Trip sat in the rear of an ambulance as an EMT held an ice pack to his ice. “Gonna have one hell of a shiner there kid.” The young man smiled. “I’m pretty sure your wrist and your knee are just bruised but the boss lady over there,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Melinda, who stood with Fitz still in a death lock around her. Mack and Yoyo stood in front of her nodding as she filled them in on most of the situation. “She insists you take a ride with us and have a doctor check it out. Takin’ the little guy too, I guess. He’s got a nice one on his face as well. Hope he wasn’t ‘the other guy’.”

The boy smiled and shook his head looking toward the scene on the sidewalk a few feet away. “Naw, that’s my little brother. He’s just about the bravest kid you’ll ever meet.” Trip beamed with pride. “And that boss lady is Melinda May. She’s my…my mom, you don’t want to mess with her. If she says we’re seeing the doctor, then that’s what’s happening.” He thought for a moment then laughed nervously. “Heck, after today me and the little guy might be safer in the hospital anyway.”

Phil approached the vehicle with Jemma’s hand in his. He gently lifted her to reach Trip. “You saved us, Trip. You saved all of us.” The little girl leaned forward and kissed her brother’s cheek. 

He looked at the young EMT and blushed at her action. “My sister,” he pointed out as he allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck and squeeze him gently.

“Mama’s going to ride with you and Fitz but Da and I will meet you at the hospital.” She patted his hand gently. Melinda joined them still carrying Fitz whose head was buried in her neck.

“Okay, there little man, how about we give you a quick check before we take off,” the EMT put his hands on Fitz’s sides in an effort to take him from his mother. The boy whimpered violently and gripped Melinda with a vice like hold. She glared at the man. He pulled his arms back and swallowed hard. “Okay then, or not…” He threw an embarrassed smile toward Trip who merely threw him an ‘I told you so’ glance. “How about I just help your mom step up inside and you can just sit on the stretcher with this big guy.” He held out a hand which Melinda took and bounced herself into the back of the ambulance. Trip sat next to them on the stretcher as the EMT climbed in behind him.

Phil waved at his wife’s nod. “See you all, very soon.”

The doors closed on the vehicle and it pulled away, lights flashing and siren screaming as it weaved its way through the early afternoon rush.

Phil turned and brushed his hands together. Mack moved next to him and took Jemma up into his arms. She smiled and hugged him tightly. Phil smiled at the sight. With all the people willing to move heaven and earth for his children, he knew they would always be protected. “How’d you figure it out?” Phil asked the large man.

Mack kissed the side of Jemma’s head and set her back on her feet. She tucked her small hand into his watching as it disappeared in his massive grip. “Once the guy at the station told me they took the Red Line to Dupont Circle…”

“Right,” Phil smiled as they walked toward the others.

“Da?” Jemma asked quietly from the opposite side of Mack. She peaked around his large muscular body at her father who raised his eyebrows waiting for her to continue. “Are we all in very much trouble?”

Mack stifled a laugh at the look on his boss’s face. Phil took a deep breath. “I’d say you are all in very much, extremely deep trouble, Jemma, but we can talk about that later.”

“Nice dodge,” Mack mumbled down toward the shorter man. Phil let it pass.

“Just talk?” Jemma pressed.

“I’m pretty sure there will be some yelling involved, Jems.” Phil answered honestly. 

Jemma nodded and took a breath. They walked a few more feet. “Just yelling?” Her voice was very small. “Because I’m quite certain that I used some awfully bad language today. I thought you should know.”

Phil stopped and drew a deep breath. “I appreciate your honesty, Jemma and we will address it. You must know your mother’s very upset. The fact is, princess, we’re both upset but this isn’t the time or the place.” He didn’t really say it but she knew he meant that was it, no more questions, discussion closed. She nodded and looked up at Mack who simply shrugged his shoulders.

They walked a short distance to join Bobbi and Hunter who stood with Yoyo watching the black body bag as two attendants wheeled the stretcher from the apartment to the coroner’s van. “So, who’s going to tell Mrs. Triplett what went on in her kitchen?” Hunter asked without looking at anyone. Bobbi rolled her eyes and turned away. Phil just ignored the question.

“What happened to Radcliffe?” Coulson asked instead.

Hunter and Bobbi glanced at each other and then to the spot they had left the Lincoln. In its place was a green Lexus. Bobbi looked up and down the street in vain, as Hunter ran a hand over his short hair. They stood looking at each other, searching for the words.

“Well?” Coulson waited. “Where is he?”

Hunter turned toward his boss and shuffled his feet. He raised his hand and scratch behind one ear. “Well you see,” he turned toward the Lexus, “he…ah…I guess he had the keys in his pocket all along.” The thought suddenly hit him.

“What?” Coulson’s patience was waning.

“He left sir.” Bobbi stated flatly. “We left him in the car, apparently he freed himself and left on in his own vehicle, but we have the plate number. I don’t think he’ll get far.”

“Yeah, where’s he gonna go anyway?” Hunter added.

A beat later, every voice stated the answer in unison. 

“Skye”

Bobbi grabbed Jemma from Mack seconds before the man dashed to the SUV along with Yoyo, Phil and Hunter. She held the little girl close as the card squealed away from the curb.

*

Mack ran every light and stop sign on the twenty-minute drive back to River Road in Bethesda. He skidded to a stop in the parking lot of St. Bartholomew’s Church, with everyone exiting before the car came to a complete halt. The doors remained open as the four agents fanned out across the lot heading for the rectory and the church. Hunter pointed to the Lincoln parked at the curb. 

“No guns,” Coulson ordered concerned not only for his baby but for the others who may be present in the area. He and Mack moved slowly toward the large church. Nothing moved in the lot or the grassy areas around the building. They opened the large double door and stepped into the dark interior of the church, blinking their eyes to adjust to the change in light.

“Daddy!” Skye’s little voice echoed in the massive sanctuary. She easily wriggled out of Sr. Mary Claire’s grip and sped down the main aisle toward Phil leaping into his arms as she met him. “Hi, Daddy,” she smiled and kissed his cheek. “I misted you, where Mama?” She looked past him toward the door and waved at Mack who stood in front of it. “Hi, Mack. Where Oyo?” The large man couldn’t contain his smile and he reached out and tousled her short hair.

Hunter and Yoyo burst through the side door. One headed for the altar where a tall man stood looking toward the floor. The other rushed to the rear where Mack and Phil stood. 

“Hi Oyo!” the little girl beamed. “Erry body go na choerch today!” She clapped her hands once then hugged her father’s neck again and kissed his cheek.

Phil breathed a sigh of relief and walked up the aisle with Mack and Yoyo following. As they approached they noticed the man laying prone on the floor in front of the altar. Skye looked down as well.

“That man sayed bad woerds, daddy.” She nodded in agreement with herself. “Him yelldid ina choerch. You apposed ta be kwite inna choerch.” She whispered with a finger in front of her lips. “An sisser taked me behine a allar! You know you cou go behine a allar. They has a quawzit behine it.” She held those little hands up in explanation and Phil let out a breath as he let his head fall forward, resting it against her chest before smiling up at her.

“I did not know that, angel eyes.” He whispered then pulled her close and kissed her again.

The little girl shook her head as she pulled back and looked at him seriously. “Then we comed back and the man bees ta sleep onna floer.” She bounced one palm toward Radcliffe who lay sprawled on the marble tile. “You no sleep onna floer inna choerch, daddy.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Phil pulled her close and hugged her tightly. Sr. M. Clair stepped forward. “This is my cousin, Father Joseph McGowan.” She nodded toward the tall man standing on the altar who reached out a hand to Phil. He took it and shook it warmly. “This is Skye’s father, Phillip Coulson.”

Phil looked at the man on the floor and asked the question burning on everyone’s lips. “What happened?”

Mary Claire tsked a few times and shook her head. “He barged in here spewing all kinds of vulgarity and demanding we hand over our little girl. We couldn’t let that happen.” She stately matter-of-factly then stopped.

Phil looked up at the priest again and then back down at unconscious fool on the floor. He raised one eyebrow in question.

“Oh, yes well Joe here teaches boxing at the Youth Center. He was quite the boxer in his youth.” Mary Claire smiled up at her cousin who folded his hands at his waist and nodded. She turned back to Coulson. “The Lord never fails us and he is sure to always give you exactly what you need, Phillip, exactly.” She smiled at the man.

Phil looked into the smiling face of his baby daughter and smiled back. “Exactly what we need,” he repeated as he squeezed her again.


	42. Paying the Piper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Trip make it to the ER  
> Melinda has her revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the racial slurs contained in this chapter. Again, I had to look up most of them, several brought me to tears thinking people can be so cruel to each other. It is offensive and I'm sure as hard to read as it was to write but Radcliffe is that offensive.

 

May carried her youngest son into the ER, walking close to the stretcher that carried her eldest.  Mortified as he was wheeled in like an invalid, Trip insisted on walking.  The EMT’s argued with the young boy but it was Melinda’s glare that glued him to the gurney with a pout almost as perfect as his baby sister’s best boo-boo face.  She sat on a metal chair in the treatment room after Trip had been sprinted off to X-Ray and for a complete exam that he felt much better enduring without his mother witnessing the procedure.  

 

The triage nurses were alarmed at the blood that covered most of the younger boy’s shirt.  It was splattered on his neck, hair, shoes and pants as well.  They immediately attempted to take the child from his mother to treat his wounds.  The boy’s reaction was violent as he shrieked in alarm when touched and gripped Melinda so tightly she had difficulty breathing.

 

“It’s not his blood,” Melinda told them over the boy’s protests.  

 

Two police officers and one of Talbot’s men pulled the curtain aside and entered the area.  One officer apologized for interrupting and handed the nurse a large red plastic biohazard bag.  “I’m really sorry for the intrusion, ma’am, but we need the boy’s clothing…all of it.”

 

Melinda nodded her understanding.  Fitz’s clothes were covered with Grant’s blood and needed as evidence.  Despite the daring rescue of her son, she realized the carnage in the Triplett’s apartment was now a crime scene.  The gun she had fired, securing Grant’s fate was confiscated by the authorities and the paperwork that awaited her was immense.  She would deal with all of the agencies in her own time.  Right now, the only thing that mattered was her children, specifically one very traumatized Fitz.  The nurses tried again to take the boy from his mother with the same result.  He was not letting go anytime soon and their continued attempts were only making things worse.  Melinda held up a hand and ordered everyone out.  It took her twenty minutes of quiet whispers, humming and pacing to calm the boy to the point she could simply talk to him.  Promises that she would stay right next to him were pointless.  She leaned back against the bed and laid her head on his cheek letting him know she understood.  The boy had yet to utter a word.

 

The attending doctor had no patience with an uncooperative child.  He called in two male nurses and a rather large orderly, _who probably moonlighted as a bouncer_ , with a plan to pull the little boy forcibly from his mother.  Melinda wrapped her arms around her son and dared the man to try then glared at him until he backed down and left the room with his minions.  She promptly insisted on having Fitz’s pediatrician who was presently doing rounds to be paged to the ER.

 

“Hey, Fitz,” Dr. Stephens’ voice was calm and soothing as she entered the small exam area.  She ran a hand through his curls and rested her hand on his shoulder, feeling him immediately tense under it.  She rubbed his arm gently, but he pulled back tightening his grip on his mother and refusing to turn his head to look at anyone.  The doctor smiled sympathetically at Melinda, nodded once and turned to the nurse who stood a few feet away. 

 

The young man approached Melinda and placed his hand on Fitz’s back.  “Hey, how about we get you out of these clothes and into a gown, so the doc here can check you over a little?”  The boy shook his head and squirmed to force his hand away.  He stepped back and walked around Melinda to try to look into the boy’s face firmly planted against his mother’s neck.  She could feel his rapid breathing against her skin.  “Your mom will stay right here and it will only take a second or two.”  He waited for a response that did not come then placed a hand on his.  Fitz recoiled immediately, squealing as if he’d been scalded.

 

Melinda turned on the young man with a glare so fierce that he stepped back quickly, holding up both hands to show he was not about to touch her son a third time.  She looked to the doctor who stood watching the exchange.  “I think we need a female nurse.  He’s had enough man-handling.” She glanced back at the nurse.  “No offense,” she nodded quickly.

 

The doctor nodded and tilted her head toward the opening in the curtain.  The nurse nodded back and exited quickly.  “Okay, Fitz, how about we keep this to just you, your mom and me…just the three of us…no one else.”  She spoke to the boy but looked at his mother.  Melinda nodded her consent as she swayed back and forth with her son as if he were a toddler.

 

Dr. Stephens slipped her stethoscope up to her ears and moved closer to the child.  “Okay, sweetie, I’m just going to listen to your heart.  Okay?  That’s all.”  She gently placed the instrument on the boy’s back feeling him go rigid under it.  As she moved it from one side to the other the boy’s tension increased.  She stepped back and gave a Melinda concerned glance.  “I think it we’re going to give Fitz a little something to help him calm down.”  She moved to the curtain and motioned for one of the nurses, spoke quietly to her for a moment, nodded and turned back to a very anxious Melinda. 

 

Stepping close to Melinda, the doctor placed a hand on her forearm, slightly brushing Fitz with her fingertips.  He tensed again.  They both paused for a moment as Melinda rocked slightly in an attempt to calm him again.  “We’re going to give him something strong, Melinda.  It will put him out for hours, but it is safe.”  Melinda nodded unconcerned with the tear rolling across her cheek.  A young female nurse stepped into the room carrying a tray.  “It’s unorthodox, but we’re going to do this through his clothing,” the doctor gave a little smile.  “It would traumatize him further to try to remove it.”  She looked over her shoulder at the nurse who now held the hypodermic.  Melinda’s looked betrayed her uncertainty at this plan.  Dr. Stephens took the needle from the nurse.  “I’ll do this myself.” She nodded to both the nervous mother and the anxious young nurse.

 

Dr. Stephens moved to Melinda’s side and spoke softly to Fitz without touching him.  Melinda stood still.  “This is going to sting a little, sweetie.  I’m sorry.”  She held the hypodermic upright and spritzed a squirt from it then quickly pushed it through the boy’s pant leg into his upper thigh.  Fitz let out a muffled squeal followed by a few quick sobs as the doctor stepped back.  “You’re going to start feeling sleepy, Fitz.  It’s okay you can relax, you’re mom will be here when you wake up.”

 

Fitz fought the feeling as long as he could but a few minutes later Melinda felt his body go limp in her arms.  She released a relieved breath, turned, laid him gently on the bed and kissed his forehead.  The young nurse stepped forward, untied the boy’s sneaker and began to slip it off when Melinda laid a hand on her arm.  The nurse froze and looked up at her. 

 

“I’ll do that.”  Melinda remarked without taking her eyes off her son.

 

The nurse looked to the doctor who nodded toward the curtain, silently telling the girl she was excused.  They stepped out together, allowing the mother time with her son. 

 

Melinda removed her son’s clothing or the clothing he wore.  She realized the items Fitz was wearing were not his.  The uniform polo was a size larger than he normally wore yet it fit meaning it had probably shrunk at some point.  It was also faded as if it had been worn for a long period of time, perhaps a hand-me-down.  The khaki pants had a hole in one pocket and a few stains on one hip and one knee.  He also wore white sneakers instead of the brown oxfords he normally wore.  She almost smiled.  The little imp had switched clothing with someone in his plot to take off on his own.  She folded the clothing and placed it in the evidence bag making a mental note to add this to the growing list of things she planned to discuss with this little boy when they got through this.

 

Melinda picked up the small hospital gown and turned back to the boy on the bed.  She took in a quick breath as she lightly brush her hand across the deep purple bruise that covered most of the right side of his face.  The darkening bruises just below his ribs where Grant had held him caused her blood to simmer.  She regretted killing the man, regretted the fact he had died so easily.  She wished him alive so she could kill him again, not fast and clean the way he had gone, but with more pain than he had brought to this sweet little boy, both physically and emotionally.  She blinked away tears wondering if Fitz would return to her…if he’d be the same sweet, stubborn, little wunderkind that she had grown to love. 

 

She slid his skinny arms into the gown then sat him up and let him lay against her chest as she tied it closed.  Gently laying him back, she covered him with the light blanket left by the nurse and kissed him again.  Even with the sedative, his slumber seemed fitful.

 

*

 

Bobbi walked into the hospital through the Emergency Room, holding tightly to the little girl’s hand that walked at her side.  She ran through various ways of telling Melinda May that she and her partner had lost the man who had put this nightmare into motion and was now probably on his way to find the only child they thought was safe.  Truth was there was no way to tell May…not and live through it.  She wondered as she smiled down at a very nervous Jemma if she’d be spared because of the little girl’s presence.

 

They walked past the many people seated in the large waiting room to the registration desk.  From this point Bobbi could see through the small window in the large double door that lead to the examination area.  Two police officers and a man in military garb stood outside one of the curtained areas.  There was no doubt in her mind that it was where she’d find Melinda and the boys.  She nodded at the poker-faced woman behind the desk and flashed her best smile.  After explaining whom she was and whom she was there to see, the woman pressed a loud buzzer that released the door so she and Jemma could enter.

 

Jemma held her hand tighter and moved closer.  Bobbi was surprised at the little girl who usually found anything to do with the medical field fascinating.  The day had taken its toll on all of them.

 

She pushed the curtain aside and found Melinda alone, seated on the one uncomfortable chair in the room.  Both women eyed each other with unspoken questions.  Bobbi scanned the empty room.  _Where were the boys?  Where they injured worse than they had believed?_

 

Melinda looked from her daughter to the woman holding the child’s hand.  Where _was Phil?  Why was Bobbi here and not him?_

 

“Trip is in radiology.”  Melinda looked at the worried expression on Jemma’s face and opened her arms to the little girl.  Jemma pulled her hand from Bobbi’s and raced into her mother’s embrace.  Melinda looked at Bobbi telling her silently that she’d give her more information in private.  “They just took Fitz as well…” she let out a breath.  “Now, we wait.”  The look on Bobbi’s face, her stance and the way she avoided eye contact let May know something was wrong.  She raised an eyebrow and lowered her chin.

 

Bobbi swallowed once.  ‘What the hell,’ she thought, ‘it’s not going to get any better’…”Radcliffe slipped the net.” She informed her quickly then braced herself for whatever would come.  On the bright side, she was already in the emergency room…close to medical assistance.

 

May was on her feet before Bobbi finished speaking.  She quickly kissed Jemma’s head and pressed her back into Bobbi’s arms.  “Stay with them.”  She commanded.  “Do not leave them for anything…ANYTHING.” 

 

Before she could answer, Melinda was gone.

 

*

 

Melinda slammed one of Talbot’s SUVs into the curb, threw open the door and stormed across the lawn of St. Bartholomew’s Church.  Phil turned toward the sound of squealing brakes then sprinted down the steps leaving Fr. McGowan staring in surprised confusion.  The man hoped to intercept his wife before she reached Radcliffe who stood in cuffs between two uniformed officers.  He could not move fast enough to reach the incensed mother.  Phil hadn’t seen a look on her face nearly as fierce since she’d gone after the guy that shot a defenseless young girl just to make a point.  She’d broken his nose and blackened both the guy’s eyes before he could pull her away.  In a last ditch effort he called to her, his voice hoarse and urgent.  She ignored him.

 

The enraged mother thundered through the crowd of people standing on the lawn until she stood directly in front of the man who had initiated the terror that almost swallowed her children.  She glared into his eyes, ignoring the bruise swelling one closed.  Her eyes never moved as she addressed the officers through her teeth.

 

“Remove the cuffs,” she spoke slowly, clearly…enunciating each syllable of each word with venom.

 

The young officers looked at each other across their prisoner’s chest then pulled him back a step, intending to bypass the woman before them.

 

Melinda reached out with speed they neither expected nor believed, grabbed the man by his tie and pulled the three of them forward.  “Remove the cuffs,” she repeated in the exact tone as she had a few seconds before, still glaring at Radcliffe and ignoring the officers.

 

Phil reached his wife and took her arm gently, attempting to steer her away.  She roughly shook him off as if she did not recognize him.  “Please, Mel…it’s over.  We got him.”  He reached for her a second time and again she shoved him off this time with a fierce growl.  He fell back, stopped from hitting the ground by Mack who had made his way to the scene.

 

The woman breathed quick puffs of air as she spoke a third time to the now anxious officers.  “Remove the cuffs.”

 

Radcliffe looked at her and laughed only succeeding in fueling the already vicious anger that threatened to overtake her.  She pictured her baby looking into those dead eyes and listening to the sickening sound that came from this piece of shit.  She saw him raise his hand to her…to leave bruises on her tiny body.  He sent that mad dog to threaten and bully her small son, to put him through a level of hell no child should ever experience.  He intended to end the life of the young man she knew would have willingly given up his own life to protect the others.  The more she let the thoughts she had suppressed far too long paint vivid pictures in her mind, the more her skin burned with the need to pound this ogre into the pavement.  Radcliffe laughed again.  She pulled him away from the officers in one quick move.

 

“Cuffs,” she almost whispered…her tone a calm, silent threat in that one word.

 

“Take them off,” Radcliffe snorted. “I’m not afraid of this little commie chink.”  He spat on the ground at her feet.  Melinda’s stance…her glare did not falter.

 

Glen Talbot appeared from somewhere in the crowd, accompanied by two guards ready to take Radcliffe into federal custody.  He took in the scene, looking from the ferocious stance of May to the sneering face of Coulson.  Talbot had one son…just one and if anyone had gone after his boy the way this maniac had pursued the Coulson children he wasn’t sure he would have been as controlled as the couple before him had been.  He would have probably killed the man on sight and dealt with the consequences later.  He thought of his wife...of what she would have done if her son had gone through what Fitz or Trip had been through today.  There would be little left of her to handle what would have followed and she sure wouldn’t be in a stand off with the idiot right now.  Talbot was a tough, no nonsense, government robot, but when it came to his wife and kid…

 

“Take ‘em off,” he ordered the officers.  They paused for a moment unsure if they should follow the command.  Talbot refused to wait.  He nodded to his own men who stepped forward, took Radcliffe roughly aside and released the bindings that held his hands behind his back. 

 

Radcliffe stepped back toward Melinda rubbing his wrists. He shook his jacket back into place on his shoulders.  Talbot stepped close and spoke close to the man’s ear.  “You’re on your own.”

 

Grinning with satisfaction, Hayden Radcliffe looked from side to side at the small crowd that had gathered.  He recognized that moron Coulson and the flunkies that followed him.  He snorted at the sorted mongrels that Coulson surrounded himself with… that he considered not only employees, but also “friends”.  It was his type that corroded the foundations of society.  His survey of the crowd ended at the glare of Melinda May.  He rubbed his hand across his mouth and sneered at the woman.

 

“Well, well, well, chinkerbell, just what do you think you’re going to do?”  He goaded her.

 

Melinda stood motionless, still glaring at the man ignoring his derogatory remark.  He raised his arms, his hands held flat in Karate style as he bobbed and weaved in and out around her spouting ‘yahs and hahs’ as he did.  She still did not move.  He stopped in front of her, laughing then suddenly stood back becoming stone serious.  He leaned close and raised a finger to poke her stiffened cheek.  Still Melinda did not budge.

 

Phil held his breath knowing what would come.  Mack and Hunter watched with fascinated pride.  Talbot had walked the distance of the lawn and stood with his men ready to collect what would be left of the jerk after the small Asian storm had her way.  He almost let himself laugh but could not suppress the smile he had in admiration for the woman.  Fr. McGowan and Sr. M. Claire stood in front of the church doors unaware of what was being said or why.  The others had moved back giving room to the two people engaged in this strange ‘dance’.

 

“You’re nothing but a skinny-ass, banana slut that isn’t even able to reproduce your own little lemonheads so you go skimming the pond scum to pass off as your own.” He started to laugh but turned to glare in growing anger. 

 

Melinda watched him but did not react, she’d let him dig his own grave.  Phil moved to stop the man himself, incensed by the comments he was making.  A quick warning glance from May stopped him.  He nodded his understanding and did his best to ignore the repulsive comments that only bounced off his wife.

 

“You think those bastards you’re trying to pass off as your children will ever amount to anything.” His voice began to take on that shrill urgency.  “They’re nothing...nothing but the same dirt as you and your slant-eye loving husband are…nothing.”  He bellowed, throwing his arms into the air.  He took a few steps away and stood with his back to Melinda, breathing heavily.  There was no way to escape, he knew that.  His fate was sealed. 

 

He spun quickly and threw a punch.  Melinda dodged it easily, leaning to the side without moving from the spot she stood.  He swung again, missing as she turned slightly to the left. 

 

A hushed gasp floated over the crowd.  Sr. M. Claire brought a hand to her mouth and turned away, unwilling to watch any more violence.

 

Radcliffe drew a breath as he stood back.  “Oh, you’re good,” he snickered, “really good, Grasshopper.”  He squeezed his eyes almost closed and stuck out his front teeth mocking her.  He waited for her reaction.  He was not rewarded as she continued to glare back, with her hands straight at her sides.  The man paced for a moment then smiled evilly.  “Now, where are those little bastards of yours?” He paused and tapped a finger on his chin, looking up at nothing then quickly snapped his fingers. “Maybe, just maybe they’re with my wicked friend, right now.  Maybe he’s taking care of them…” He flashed a malicious smile.  “Oh yes, taking care of them…no, no not for _you_ …but for _me_.  Yes, he has such a way with children, don’t you think?” 

 

Again, he waited.

 

Again nothing.

 

“Three down…one to go.”  He watched for a chink in her armor.  “Now, just where are they hiding that little egg roll?”  He shook his head.  “Oh, don’t you worry your flat little head about her.  No, no, no…you don’t have to worry about Mr. Morgan laying his hands on that one.  That one is all mine and when I…”

 

Melinda had had enough.  She listened long enough to justify her actions.  She silently lurched forward landing a stinging kick between his legs.  He grabbed at the site and fell forward.  She kicked again connecting with the side of his head and sending him sprawling to the ground.  He rolled to his back groaning.  Neither kick was her full strength.  This one would not go down as easily as the last.  She had no intention of killing the man, but she’d make him wish she did.

 

“Get up,” she growled, stepping back and giving him space.

 

He breathed heavily, looked up at her, and shook his head once.  She pulled him to his feet before he realized she had grabbed his collar. Catching his balance, he laughed again.  “You think all these people are just going to stand by and allow you to do this?”  He spread one hand across the crowd and laughed again.  She merely glared at him.  He opened his mouth to speak again but never got the chance, with one round house kick she knocked him to the ground watching as a single tooth flipped through the air. 

 

Melinda was on him before his back hit the grass.  She straddled the man’s chest, grabbing his lapel and pulling him close.  She spoke in a low growl unfazed by the spittle that sprayed his face as she spoke.  “You will never, ever come near my children again because next time,” she paused to land a fierce punch to his face snapping his nasal cartilage with a sharp crack.  “I….well…end…you.”  One last punch sent his head tossing to one side as she sent him into oblivion then threw his torso to the ground.

 

Talbot jerked his head toward the scene.  His men moved to Radcliffe’s lifeless form immediately, but stood back as Melinda gracefully extracted herself from his chest and walked away without turning back.  Phil approached her carefully, knowing it would take time for her to shake off the furor that had engulfed her.  He reached to take her arm.

 

“Don’t touch me, Phil.” She growled, pulling herself away from his attempt.  “I need to be with my boys.”  She continued past him, heading back to the car she had left at the curb.  The SUV squealed away from the curb and disappeared down the street as quickly as it had arrived.

Coulson stood watching it as Hunter joined him.  “Are you certain she should be with the lads when she’s in such a fit?”  He furrowed his brow as he turned to his boss.  Phil cast him a glare that disappeared as he noticed Yoyo coming around the far side of the large church struggling to hold on to a half-running, half-jumping Skye.

 

“Daddy,” she squealed as she yanked Yoyo forward.  “We see Mama, now.  Kay, daddy, we see Fizz.  Oyo say he with mama.”

 

Phil smiled at Yoyo who stood back as she released the little girl’s hand.  He lifted her into his arms and kissed her cheek.  “Yes, angel Mama is with Fitz and Trip.  I’m pretty sure Bobbi and Jemma are there, too.”  He kissed the opposite cheek causing Skye to giggle and throw her arms around his neck.

 

The little girl leaned back with her hands clasped behind her daddy’s neck.  She tilted her head and looked at him seriously.  “Daddy, I no see Mama a lot time. I mist hoer.  She no gimme my breffuss and we no pink oh juice inna moening. I needa hug hoer big.  You take me now?”  Her little eye brows shot up to her poker straight bangs.

 

Phil smiled and leaned forward resting his forehead against hers.  “I think that Mama really needs a hug from you, angel eyes.  She missed you too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping folks are still following. Comments feed the muse that keeps this rolling. Thanks for your time and support.


	43. Confession, Contrition...Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys recover but deal with guilt  
> Phil and Melinda deal with punishment
> 
> Allusions made to corporal punishment, nothing graphic, nothing implied....it's kinda read into it what you want....

Trip and Fitz were kept overnight at the hospital on Dr. Stephen’s orders. Trip for observation due the injuries he received at Grant’s hands. X-rays revealed two hairline fractures, one on the boy’s cheekbone and the other his ribs. Neither required extreme measures but would mean that Trip would be taking it easy for quite some time. 

The doctor sat with the young boy and his surrogate parents explaining what she meant. There was to be no heavy lifting, no running, no jumping, and no roughhousing for at least three to four weeks. Trip rolled his eyes and tossed back his head trying to imagine what he’d do with himself for a month. 

“That knee is tender, but luckily not broken.” The doctor smiled. “You’ll need to stay off of it for a few days.”

Trip wasn’t smiling. “A whole month,” he groaned. 

The doctor smiled at Phil and Melinda then looked back to the boy, patting his leg as she lifted herself from where she had sat on his bed. “And no basketball, Mr. Triplett…until I say so. Understood?”

The boy threw one arm over his eyes and let out a long fluttery breath accompanied by an almost whine, but did not respond.

“Trip,” Melinda warned.

“Understood,” he sighed without moving his arm.

The adults exchanged an amused glance as Phil slapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

Melinda sat on the other bed in the room watching the other patient sleep. Fitz had woken before sunset, emitting a scream that rivaled any Skye could muster. Although Melinda was at his side in seconds, he could not be calmed. A second dose of strong sedative sent him back to the fitful sleep he was in now. Both Melinda and Phil hated seeing him this way and hated even more that he had to be sedated once again. 

The boy’s physical injuries were minor, albeit ugly. A large purple bruise covered most of the right side of his face as a result of the backhanded slap Grant had given him. The contusions beneath his ribs weren’t as severe and x-rays showed nothing broken or fractured. Mostly he was being treated for shock. Fitz’s injuries were invisible and untreatable by a pediatrician. Dr. Stephens insisted the boy see the hospital psychologist for evaluation. This time the Coulsons agreed, knowing all of their children could possibly need to speak to a counselor after their run in with James Grant and Hayden Radcliffe.

*

Jemma snapped a small propeller on the mismatched Lego structure her little sister had created then flipped a small switch that put it in motion. Skye bounced on her toes and clapped her hands at the action before lifting the toy and racing around the room with it. Jemma watched for a moment, then turned to Bobbi who had been observing from the doorway. She hung her head as she walked toward the tall woman standing with her arms crossed and leaning on the doorframe.

“Do you think they’re terribly angry with us?” Jemma asked solemnly, without lifting her head.

Bobbi let out a quick breath and relaxed her stance. “Come over here,” she urged the little girl softly as she took her hand guiding her to the large couch in the Coulson’s family room. Once there she sat down pulling Jemma to sit next to her. For a moment, they both watched Skye as she set her odd little plane on the table and dropped to her knees to examine a row of small plastic jungle animals. She growled for the tiger that ‘chased’ a lion around the parade then flew to the table to ‘leap’ on the funny plane for a zooming ‘ride’ around the room.

Jemma allowed her friend to pull her into a one-armed hug but still refused to meet her eyes, staring at her own hands instead. She rested them on her lap, playing with her fingers nervously. Bobbi reached with her free hand to cover the little girl’s fidgeting. Jemma watched as the woman’s large hand closed over her own. She looked up over her brows, trying to see Bobbi without really looking at her. The woman hugged her again, rubbing her hand up and down the little girl’s arm. “I wish you’d stop worrying about it, honey.” She kissed the little girl’s head.

“This whole thing is such a horrible affair.” Jemma shook her head. 

Bobbi stifled a laugh at the girl’s way of describing recent events. She squeezed Jemma’s hands again then patted them gently. 

“I’m sure they are angry with us…with Fitz for running away…with Trip and I for following after him…we’ve made such a terrible mess of everything.” She took a shaky breath in an effort to hold back her tears. 

“Looka this, Bobbi,” Skye bounced in front of the woman holding her toy so close to Bobbi’s face that she had to lean back to focus on it. “I maded it with Fizz eggos. Him sayed it okay I use them. My tiger get a ride…see.” 

“It’s wonderful,” Bobbi smiled as she held the object for a second before Skye took it back and raced across the room, dropping it into a large bin of the small interlocking blocks and picking up a small baby doll then sitting down at the table in the room and scribbling on an open coloring book.

Jemma watched her sister and let out a shaky sigh. “Mama and Da have to be so very angry with us.” She turned her head to the side and looked up at Bobbi. “Do you think the punishment will be extreme?”

Bobbi couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped but pulled it back quickly. “Oh, honey,” she hugged Jemma with both arms. “I imagine you will have some consequences for your actions but I’m sure your parents will be fair and understanding.”

Jemma took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I really would prefer not to receive a spanking, Bobbi, but I think,” she swallowed hard and for once sounded like a little girl, “I think it might be a possibility. I certainly frightens me.” She leaned into the woman at her side. “Following the rules…being good, makes me feel nice.” The little girl smiled an almost smile as she looked up at Bobbi. “Not being good…making very unwise choices makes me…” Jemma thought for a moment. “Well, it makes me feel like this and I don’t like it at all, Bobbi. I don’t know how to relieve this terrible anxiety.”

Bobbi thought for a moment watching Skye hop from one toy to another while amazingly not creating a total mess of the room. She however lost a shoe, which did not seem to faze her in the least. Rubbing her hand up and down Jemma’s arm, she continued. “Honey, what you’re feeling is guilt because you know you did…did make a poor choice.” Jemma looked at her again and chewed her bottom lip. Bobbi grinned and let out a little breath. “Honestly, Jems, there’s more than likely going to be some kind of punishment but, I really don’t think either of your parents will go that far and you need to stop worrying about it.” She kissed the little girl again and gave her another gentle squeeze. “How, about I make all of us some lunch and you keep Skye occupied for a while. Yoyo and Mack will be here soon and the little one,” she nodded toward Skye, “will have a nice nap. Then you and I will visit the boys and your parents.”

Jemma nodded, but Bobbi was sure her worries were not relieved. 

*

“MOM!” Fitz sat up with the scream, reaching wildly for comfort. Melinda was next to him in a breath, even though Trip and Phil had jumped with the boy’s shriek. She sat on his bed, facing him as he stared wild-eyed for a brief second. He took a deep breath and froze as she reached for him.

“I’m here, nán yīng, right here.” Melinda spoke softly as she took his hand and he turned to follow it up her arm to her face. Fitz blinked a few times before pulling his hand away and reaching out for her with both arms. 

“Mom,” he said much more quietly as she pulled him into a tight hug. He hugged her back. “I’m so sorry, mama.” The little boy whispered into her neck, close to her ear.

Melinda pulled him into her lap, wrapping him in her arms and holding him close. “Méiguānxì, nǐ xiànzài hěn ānquán. You’re safe now.” She breathed the words close to his ear, hushing him as she rocked gently and kissed his temple. He didn’t hug her back, simply snuggled into her, still groggy from the sedative and content to be this close to the woman who had grown to be his protector…his mother. 

Fitz never told Melinda, but he referred to her as his ‘heart mother’. In his little genius brain, he’d reasoned that Emilie was his real mother, biological was the term because he grew inside of her and was part of her. She would forever be part of him and he would always love her. He told her so every night when he looked up at her star out of his bedroom window. That made Melinda his mother in his heart because she made it better. No one could ever fix the part of his heart that shattered when he lost his maw, but Melinda made it easier to remember her or just to think about her. Melinda pointed out her star. Melinda understood. Melinda didn’t give him his life, but she saved it. 

He didn’t need to tell her…she knew.

Fitz pulled himself as small as he could, curling into Melinda as close as possible. “Trip?” He whispered so softly only she heard.

“He’s here, right here.” Melinda told him, laying her cheek against the top of his curly head. She glanced at Phil who stood next to the older boy’s bed smiling at the scene of his wife and young son. Trip nodded and gave a slight cough clutching his chest to quell the ache.

Fitz looked up at the sound and smiled at his older brother. “I feel all wobbly in my head.” He remarked without lifting his head from where it rested on Melinda’s chest. 

She kissed him again. “It’s just the medicine, Fitz.” She smoothed her hand across his hair. “It will go away in a little bit.”

The boy looked down at the yellow hospital gown that covered his small form and traced the little rocket ships on it with his index finger. “Whose pajamas have I got on…” he tugged at the hem on the short gown not realizing it barely covered him. 

Trip closed his one good eye and turned his head with a quick laugh. “Hey, little bro, I don’t really need to see that much of you!” He held up his hand in front of his face as a mock shield.

Phil couldn’t help the snicker that escaped him as he pulled a folded blanket from the bottom of Trip’s bed and covered the little boy. He placed a hand on the side of Fitz’s face and smiled at the child who leaned into his mother but smiled back. 

“It’s okay, Fitz,” Melinda grinned as she straightened the light blanket around him. “We’ll get your PJ’s at home. These are temporary.”

Fitz stared at the pattern on the gown and sighed. “They’re quite ugly, mom.” 

Melinda laughed, hugged him for the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours and nodded her agreement. “Yes, my sweet boy, they certainly are.”

For a few minutes, a comfortable silence filled the room. It was broken as Fitz sat up slowly and looked into Melinda’s eyes, studying her closely. He turned to Phil who had sat down next to them, giving him the same concerned looked. He glanced quickly over his shoulder at Trip then laid back against Melinda’s shoulder. Fitz reached up and picked at a loose thread on the sweater Melinda wore. “Jemma?” He asked, looking quickly at his dad.

“Jemma’s fine, Fitz.” Phil assured him, resting a hand on the boy’s leg. “In fact, she should be here soon, with Hunter and Bobbi.” He patted the leg and smiled broadly.

Fitz watched his father’s hand move up and down against his covered limb. He let out a shaky breath and looked up into his mother’s concerned gaze. 

“What is it, Fitz?” Melinda asked as her brows came together.

“Tell us, little man. What’s bothering you?” Phil added as his hand fell still on his son’s leg.

Fitz looked down. “I’m sorry I caused all this.” He mumbled.

Melinda and Phil looked at each other then to the boy watching from the other bed. Trip quickly looked down suddenly very interested in the fuzz on his own blanket. The parents exchanged another quick glance before Phil spoke. He squeezed Fitz’s knee gently and the boy looked up at him.

“We…” Phil looked quickly around the room at his family. “All of us have a lot to talk about…an awful lot and there will be some serious consequences for what happened in the past few days, but…” The little boy dropped his gaze again, afraid to look into his father’s eyes as he continued. Phil put a finger under Fitz’s chin and lifted his head to see the boy’s face. “But, and I want you to really listen to me Fitz.” The little boy closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “Look at me, Fitz.” Opening his eyes slowly and blinking away the tears the child did as he was told. “Nothing about this is your fault, absolutely nothing.”

“But…” Fitz started, his chin still resting on his father’s fingers.

“But, nothing, Fitz,” Phil withdrew his hand and shook his head. “What you did was…” he looked at his wife who pursed her lips and raised her brows then looked back at the little boy staring at him. “What you did…what you all did,” he glared at Trip for a second before continuing, “was probably the most stupid thing you’ve ever done and I guarantee you will never do it again.” His voice rose and got very stern for a moment before he lowered it, reining in the anger he still held regarding his children’s recent actions.

Trip exchanged a quick glance with his little brother and swallowed hard. Fitz looked up at his mother then back to Phil and waited for the axe to fall. He wiped a tear that threatened to leak over his cheek.

Phil drew a deep breath before continuing, calming and bracing himself at the same time. “Grant and Radcliffe are responsible for what happened. They are the ones to blame for it. They caused the problem, Fitz, not you or your brother or your sister.” He looked at the little boy who now cringed against his mother and lightened his tone again. He reached out and took the boy’s hands in his own. “They’re gone, Fitz. They can’t hurt you or any of us, ever again. What you did was wrong, but we’ll address it at home…you, me, mom, Trip and Jemma…we’ll work it out, together. For now,” he squeezed the little hands in his. “For now, just get better.”

Fitz opened his mouth ready to challenge his father, but was silenced with a tight squeeze and soft shushes from Melinda. Inside she smiled at her beautiful stubborn little warrior. Jamie Grant had done nothing to dull his spirit. Outside, she raised one eyebrow in warning and Fitz let out a breath then dropped his head against her in submission. Phil grinned and patted his shoulder. Everyone turned at the soft knock on the door.

Jemma pushed the door open slowly and hurried across the room to join her parents on her brother’s bed. Bobbi and Hunter followed close behind, nodding to Phil and Melinda as they entered. Phil lifted the little girl to sit between him and Melinda. Jemma smiled at Fitz and squeezed his fingers knowing the little boy would never allow her to hug him, especially in front of all the others.

“Fitz, you were so very brave.” She gleamed at her little brother.

Fitz frowned and glanced up at Melinda without picking up his head. “More like very stupid,” he mumbled and felt the silent laugh his mother tried to suppress.

Hunter moved to the side of Trip’s bed reaching out a hand to the boy who took and shook it before letting it drop into a quick fist bump. “Well done, lad. You’re welcome on my team any time.” The man smiled and slapped the boy on the shoulder.

“Not in this lifetime.” Melinda sneered.

Phil shook his head. 

Bobbie snorted.

Jemma and Fitz exchanged a confused glance.

 

*

Two weeks later the family was struggling to get back to what they laughingly called normal. Bobbi and Hunter returned to London with reports and documentation covering all the drama that was James Grant. They also escorted the man’s remains as he would be interred with his parents in a small cemetery near the family home in Glasgow. They bid the family goodbye promising to return in a few months for the grand celebration.

“I think we’ve let them dwell long enough, Phil.” Melinda commented over her teacup as she watched her three eldest children sit in sullen silence on the patio.

Phil turned from where he had been pulling a cold drink from the refrigerator and moved to stand next to his wife. He pulled the top from the bottle he held and took a drink before answering. “They’ve been acting like defendants waiting for the jury to return a verdict.” He chuckled and took another long drink.

Melinda smiled and sipped her tea. “They confessed, remember? The verdict’s been in for a while.” She laughed through her nose. “I think they know that. What they’re dreading is the penalty phase of this proceeding.”

“Think they’ll come at us for not allowing them legal representation.” Phil deadpanned.

Melinda stared for a moment. “Need I remind you, my dear…this is not a democracy.”

Phil pursed his lips as he swallowed and nodded in agreement. “What about Skye?”

Melinda looked from the three children sulking on patio furniture to the little whirlwind peddling her bike in a wide circle a few feet away. The little girl would stop and jump off, run to the older kids and chatter on waving her hands for emphasis then race back and peddle around again in the opposite direction. “I’ll put her down for her nap. She’ll be fine.” Phil nodded as Melinda watched the others deal with their guilt as well as their apprehension. They were all aware today was the day they’d have the ‘talk’.

Trip bounced his head slowly, listening to the music through the ear buds he wore. He stared at the device in his hand, occasionally glancing up and waving at the little girl who called to him from her bike.

Jemma stared at the same page in the oversized medical book she held on her lap that she’d been looking at for the past twenty minutes. She hadn’t turned it once since she sat down.

Fitz sat alone at the round beveled glass table tinkering with a battery-operated racecar that no longer worked. He’d taken it apart a few weeks ago with the intent to repair it. Now he merely fiddled with the internal wiring without much thought.

“Yep, they’re pretty miserable.” Phil noted as he finished his drink and placed the empty bottle on the counter top. “You’re sure about this?” He wanted to make sure.

Melinda turned and looked at him over her brow. “We’ve discussed this to death, Phil. Yes, I am sure. You take Trip and Jemma. I’ll deal with Fitz.”

“Mel, really do you have to…”

Again, she glared at him. “Yes, Phil, what he did was reckless as well as dangerous and stupid. He needs to know it won’t be tolerated. It won’t happen again.” She wasn’t angry, just determined.

*

As soon as Skye was asleep, her three older siblings walked the Green mile, each staring at their own feet as they dragged them across the kitchen floor. Phil opened his office door, a place the kids rarely, if ever entered. Jemma ducked under her father’s arm while Trip waited for Phil to lower his limb before passing him to join his little sister. Fitz took a step toward the door but was stopped when Phil stepped inside and held the door. He furrowed his brow looking up at his father. 

Melinda extended her hand. “You come with me, Fitz. We have a few things to discuss in private.” 

Fitz looked at her hand for a moment then up into her eyes. Melinda was smiling, a funny smile that the boy did not recognize. He swallowed once and took the offered hand following his mom toward the stairs as Phil shook his head and watched as they continued upstairs.

Phil closed the door and stood with his hand on the knob for a second before drawing a deep breath and turning to face his children. Jemma and Trip stood in front of his desk with their backs to him. He shook his head and gathered the frustration he had buried, saved for this moment. By the time he reached the opposite side of the desk his expression had changed to one of a very concerned, irate parent. Trip recognized it immediately and put an arm around Jemma’s shoulders.

“We…” the boy started.

“I’ve heard your side…several times.” Phil snapped. “Now, you hear mine.” Trip nodded and stepped back, pulling Jemma with him. “What were you thinking?” he demanded, angrier than he’d intended. 

Trip drew a breath and opened his mouth to answer then realized it was a rhetorical question. He stopped and looked at the floor, suddenly quite interested in the rug. 

“You should have come to us, let us deal with Fitz and his reckless actions. That’s our job…OUR JOB, not yours! Damn it, do you realize how badly you both could have been hurt. Roaming around the city…the train station, in the middle of the night. How did you even know where he was? Do you know what kind of things could have happened? Do you know how devastated your mother and I would have been if you’d been…” He stopped unable to put into words their worst fears on that night. 

“You,” he addressed Trip, pointing a finger at him as the boy picked up his head to meet his father’s eyes. “What kind of a crazy plan did you have, what were you going to do, what if you didn’t find him?” Phil was speaking much faster, much harsher and much louder than either child had ever heard. Both cringed at the sound.

“And you,” he turned to Jemma, who jumped at his tone. “The only thing saving you from a very warm backside is the fact that Trip here is too big to take over anyone’s knee and it would be unfair to punish one of you and not the other. Although you deserve it much more, son! You’re the oldest. I’m not going to say you should know better, but why in god’s name would you drag Jemma with you? You have to know the ramifications of such a stupid act.” Again, he addressed his son.

Jemma looked up over her brows and chewed her bottom lip.

“Why would you make her a part of this?!” Phil now demanded an explanation and waited for Trip to respond and he jammed his index finger onto the desk with each word, even though he really wanted to slam his fist onto it instead.

Trip stared for a moment, trying to put together anything that might make the slightest bit of sense to his very angry father. He shifted his weight from one side to the other while Jemma watched.

“No, da, no…it wasn’t Trip, it was…” The little girl spoke up, seemingly unfazed by her father’s ire.

“Stop, Jemma, don’t…” Trip almost begged, looking from her to Phil and then back as he stepped in front of her. “She’s just trying to keep me out of trouble, don’t listen to her.” He tried to push the little girl behind him but she pushed his hands away and moved around him.

“It wasn’t his idea, it was mine. He tried to stop me, da, he did. I just wanted to find Fitz and make him come back before he was in more trouble than he could manage. He’s so silly sometimes and I knew he would listen to me.” She reconsidered. “Well, I hoped that he would.”

Trip rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand and her attention. “It’s okay, Jems, you don’t have to cover for me. I can take it. I’ve been in trouble before.” He turned back to Phil. “I’ll take any punishment you give me, sir. I deserve it. I put Jemma in danger. I didn’t think it through. My gram’d tan me good. I can take it, sir, really.” He hung his head in an attempt to hide the blush on his cheeks.

Jemma used all her strength to push her big brother aside. “Stop it, Antoine. Now, you are lying, a fat flat out untruth. You know it was my idea.” She turned to her father. “I snuck out the family room window just like when you had us hide on that Holt woman. It wasn’t difficult. I was almost to the bus stop when Trip caught up to me. He tried to make me come back, but…but…” she dropped her gaze to the floor as Trip turned away and closed his eyes. His little sister was digging herself in so deep he’d need a ladder to pull her back.

Phil was stunned at Jemma’s admission. He’d never expected her as the perpetrator and in his mind had blamed Trip since the beginning. “But, what?” He looked at her sternly.

Jemma pinched up her face and searched for the right words. “I…I told him that I would scream and say he was trying to make me go with him if he didn’t cooperate and let me continue.” She let out a relieved breath at her confession. “That’s when he said if I was going, he was coming along. He had an idea, anyway.” She looked up at Trip. “That’s how we found Fitz.”

“How did you know he’d be there?” Phil asked again.

“I knew he had my apartment key.” Trip spoke softly. 

“And you didn’t think this was important enough to share with me…us?” Phil’s voice was furious again.

“I wasn’t sure and I didn’t think you had time to waste. I thought I could just check it out and…” Trip let the comment fall away. It sounded as dumb to him as it did to the man clenching his fists as well as his teeth behind the desk. “I couldn’t just let her go off in the dark all by herself.” He mumbled into his chest as his head dropped again.

Phil let out a long breath through his nose and leaned forward on his fists. He looked from one child to the other, almost breaking at the looks of dread on both young faces. Relaxing his hands, he drummed his fingers on the desk and stared down at his own feet before looking back into the eyes of the two children awaiting their fate. He stood, turned, folded his arms over his chest and looked out the window into the side yard.

“Jemma,” he said, louder and firmer than usual. “Go to your room. I think you need to speak with your mother about this. I’ll make sure she comes to see you as soon as she is finished with Fitz” The little girl nodded but remained in place. Phil turned back and glared at her for a second. “Now, Jemma.”

She raised her brows, glanced up at Trip with the most apologetic look she could and hurried to do as she was told.

Phil waited until the door closed before looking back at his eldest. “How much longer are you grounded…medically?” He asked the boy who was taken off guard by the inquiry.

“I…um…two…about two weeks…I think.” Trip stammered.

Phil paused, his face stern in deep thought before he addressed the nervous boy. “One month, Trip, one month...after you’re off the injured list…one month.” He held up one finger. “No basketball, you sit out the games, none at all, no phone, no video games. You are officially grounded.” Trip nodded, knowing it would be pointless to argue. Phil was not done. “AND you tell your grandmother everything.”

Trip’s eyebrows shot up. “Gram? Come on, that’s…” At Phil’s glare, he snapped his mouth closed, dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded his compliance.

“Consider yourself lucky.” Phil exhaled. “I can’t punish you for protecting Fitz and Jemma.” He walked around the desk and extended a hand to the boy. Trip looked at it for a second before taking it and letting his surrogate dad shake it firmly.

Phil pulled him close, “you pull a stunt like that again and it won’t matter how big you are. Got it?”

“Got it,” Trip swallowed and gave a weak smile.

 

*

Melinda led Fitz into his room, closed the door and pulled out the chair from his desk. She sat down with him standing in front of her, still holding her hand. Reaching down she took his other hand and brought both together, holding them gently.

“Do you know why we’re here Fitz?” Melinda spoke quietly, her voice calm and gentle. The little boy lowered his gaze and shook his head. His mother smiled at the top of his head. “I think you do.” He shook his head again. Melinda tugged his hands gently, urging him to look at her. The boy did so, only with his eyes and caught his mother’s grin. She asked the same question with her gaze.

“I did something exceptionally stupid,” he sighed. “I believe we’re here to make reparations for my poor decisions.”

Melinda almost laughed. “That’s one way to put it.” She pulled her serious face back into place. “Can you tell me what you were thinking?” He shrugged his shoulders and she tugged his hands again, leaning down to look into his eyes.

“I didn’t want Jamie to hurt you or the others. I thought if I went away, he’d leave you alone. I was trying to protect all of you.” He spilled out in one breath then took a deep one and exhaled.

Melinda patted his hands and collected her thoughts. “That’s not your job, Fitz. That’s what your father and I are here to do, protect you and your brother and sisters. I think you know that.”

Fitz shook his head. “But, I know him. I know what he could do and I had to make sure he didn’t hurt you,” he looked up at Melinda for the first time, “like he hurt my maw.”

“Your da and I can take care of ourselves,” she smiled as she brushed the hair from his brow. “That’s what we do. And don’t you think that Bobbi and Hunter…that Mack and Yoyo would do the same. We are all here to protect you.” 

The little boy shrugged his shoulders again. “I was afraid…afraid of losing you.

“That’s a pretty awful feeling, isn’t it?” Melinda raised her brows as she asked him. Fitz nodded, looking back down at his hands still entwined with his mother’s larger ones. “Your da and I were afraid too, Fitz…when we couldn’t find you…when we knew you were in danger.” He looked up at her, tears building in his eyes. “If anything had happened to you Fitz, my heart would have been broken.” She closed her eyes and pushed away the visions of what could have been. When she opened them again he was looking up at her, tears streaming across his cheeks. “A part of my heart would be gone, Fitz.”

“I’m sorry, mama,” Fitz took a shaky breath that caught in his sob.

She lifted his hands and kissed them softly. “I know you are, bao bao. You made a very bad choice and we need to be sure, very sure you remember never to do it again.” 

He pulled one hand away and wiped his eyes. “I know, but I really don’t want to…” He let his hand drop back to hers.

“I really don’t either, Fitz, but I think we need to and we’ve talked a lot about what we want and what we need, haven’t we?” Melinda explained. Fitz nodded to keep the sob from escaping again. She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him.

“When I was a little girl, just a bit older than you I saw a beautiful butterfly necklace and I wanted it so badly. My mother said I would have to work for it, but I thought that would take a long time so one day when no one was looking I took it.”

Fitz looked into her eyes, astonished. “You stole it?” She pursed her lips and nodded quickly.

“I hid it in the bottom of my jewelry box but my mama found it so I told her my ba ba bought it for me.”

Fitz was almost flabbergasted. He sniffled and looked at her in disbelief. “You lied?”

“I did,” she told him with a frown. “When my mama asked him he was so disappointed in me. He took me for a long walk and we talked about making bad choices. He made me take the necklace back to the store and tell the owner what I did. Then we walked back home and went to my room.”

“Like us?” Fitz asked and she nodded.

“Just like us, just like now. I told him I was sorry and he said he knew but I had to remember never to do it again.”

“Were you frightened?” Fitz asked with wide eyes.

Melinda nodded. “I was, but I knew my ba ba loved me very much and wanted me to learn a lesson that I would not forget. I felt so badly about what I did even though I was sorry. I trusted him and knew everything would be better.”

“Did you forget?” Fitz bit his lip waiting for her answer.

“Never,” she assured him.

He thought for a moment, taking a shaky breath. “Did it get better?” 

She nodded, “after a little while, everything was better. I never stole anything again.”

“I trust you.” Fitz said quietly.

Melinda smiled and hugged him close. “Then I think it’s time, don’t you?”

Fitz took a deep breath and nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took almost a week to complete, probably the longest I've had to work at. Thanks for your support and encouragement.


	44. Eyes and Ears and Mouth and Nose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Melinda recover from doling out discipline  
> Fitz and Skye undergo surgery

 

Children rarely see or understand the ache their parents feel at having to disperse discipline.  Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz were not among that group.  They were certainly in the minority for Melinda May did not hide how punishing her little ones made her feel.  Once again, her thoughts returned to her own father, the one, and only time he had chastised her in the same way.  Remembering the look on his face, which at the time she had taken as disappointment in her actions, she now understood to be the deep regret he felt for having to punish her so severely.  Suddenly she felt a rush of respect and love for her father that she had not felt in a very long time. 

 

Melinda sat quietly with each of her little scoundrels, in turn, and shared their tears.  She rocked them just as her father had done with her and hummed the same song until they calmed and drifted off in relieved exhaustion knowing that their mother loved them very much, even when she had to punish them this way.  Both were tucked gently into their beds for a much-needed nap and after checking on Skye, she made her way downstairs to her husband’s office.

 

Phil looked up at the soft knock on the door and stood as his wife walked into the room.  She closed the door, leaning back on it and looked directly into his eyes.  He saw it, her anguish at what had to be done, and opened his arms.  She moved slowly across the office and allowed him to take her into him, quietly embracing her with his silent strength.

 

Melinda leaned her cheek against his chest and breathed slowly, allowing herself to relax.  She wiped the last of her tears away and rested on her hand against him.  He merely stood, waiting for her to relax…to collect her thoughts…her emotions.  He knew emotions were something Melinda did not share easily…but with the arrival of their unexpected brood, she had become a bit more willing to let them show at least to him.

 

“ _That_ was the most difficult thing I have ever had to do.”  She spoke to his chest, letting out a deep breath. For a moment, they were quiet, then she looked up at him, still resting her hand on his chest.  “It was bad enough with Fitz.  You had to send Jemma to me?”  She let out an exasperated sigh.  “She confessed to everything from working out the plan to using bad language and lying by omission.  You couldn’t deal with that yourself?”  She half glared at him.

 

Phil looked down at her but did not answer, simply gave her a ‘who me?’ face then smiled as she shook her head.

 

Melinda closed her eyes and thought about the guilt ridden expression Jemma had give her as she entered the little girl’s bedroom.  Jemma had been seated at the edge of her bed, head down, staring at the floor with her hands gripping the duvet that covered her mattress.  She looked up over her brow as her mother approached.

 

Unlike Fitz, Jemma was quite forthcoming.  She slid off the bed and stepped in front of her mother as Melinda sat on the girl’s already in position white desk chair.  “I am so sorry, mama.  I’m sorry I got Trip into trouble.  I do deserve to be punished so much more than he does.  Please, don’t be angry with him.  I went after Fitz.  He only attempted to stop me.  I forced him to come along.”

 

“I understand, Jemma.”  Melinda tried to calm the little girl who barely took a breath as she spoke.  “Your father already told me what happened.”

 

“Then he also told you that I used quite vulgar language when that horrid man was hurting Fitz and Trip.  I should have been more restrained, but I let my anger take control.  I know better but I my emotions were so very strong.  And of course, I lied which is never acceptable…”

 

Melinda stopped her.  “Lied?”

 

Jemma looked at her mother, tilting her head in wonder.  “Yes, mama, I lied to all of you.  It was, of course, a lie of omission, but nevertheless it was a lie.  I allowed you to believe Trip was responsible for this debacle when all the while it was I.  Then I was so thoughtless when I made Skye cry.  I told her she was a baby and needed to get into bed.  I didn’t even try to comfort her.  I was so very unkind.”

 

Despite the situation, Melinda was having a difficult time keeping a straight face at Jemma’s confessions.  She made another attempt to slow the little girl down.  Melinda remained firm, but spoke softly.  “Jemma, I understand.  You made a lot of poor choices and you feel very bad about them…”

 

“Bobbi says it’s guilt.  Yes, I believe it is.  I feel quite guilty and I don’t care for the feeling in the least.”  Jemma was speaking rapidly and twisting her fingers in front of herself as she did.  Melinda took her hands to help her calm.  For a moment, the little girl was silent but refused to pick up her head or to look directly at her mother.  She took a deep breath and continued.

 

“I broke the flower pot on the patio.  I cleaned it up and got a fresh pot from the garage, but I did break it.  No one knew but it was me.”  Jemma stopped for a moment and put a hand to her mouth.  “Oh my, that’s another lie.  Isn’t it?  I spilled the saline solution in chemistry class, when Mr. Bosley asked who did, I said nothing.  He is always so cross and I didn’t want to be admonished in front of the entire class.”  Melinda just nodded her head as Jemma continued to ramble on.  “I didn’t complete my calculus assignment last Thursday.  I went to class unprepared and finished just before Miss Shea entered the room.”

 

At that point, Melinda stopped the child, not asking if she were ready, as she had done with Fitz.  If she didn’t proceed with Jemma’s chastisement, the little girl would probably confess to every slight misstep she had ever taken.  It was time to end the girl’s enormous guilt.

 

“Mel?”  Phil called his wife out of her thoughts. 

 

She looked at him and blinked a few times.  “That is definitely something I do not hope to repeat anytime soon.”  She let the thought drop as she rest her head against Phil’s shoulder and expelled a long breath. 

 

Phil chuckled slightly and kissed the top of her head.  “With _this_ crew, it might be something of a routine occurrence.”

 

Melinda slapped his chest.  “Don’t even joke about that, Phil.”  She warned.  “If there is _ever_ a next time, it is _your_ turn.”  She emphasized each word with a poke to his chest.

 

He hugged her a little tighter.  “I’m sure you convinced them to do a lot more thinking before making future choices.  I don’t think there’ll be a next time.”  He sighed, resting his chin on her head then started to laugh, silently.

 

Melinda slapped him a second time.  “There is nothing funny about this situation, Phillip.”  She growled. 

 

“Oh, I know that, Mel.  I was just picturing what Skye will put us through...”  He laughed again.

 

Melinda smiled against him, wrapping her arms around his waist.  “Well, _daddy_ , that little one is all yours.  When she crosses the line…and we both know she will, _repeatedly_ …you can dole out all the consequences.” 

 

Now she chuckled at his sudden stiff posture.

 

*

 

A month later, the incident with Grant and Radcliffe was slowly fading, although both Phil and Melinda knew it was important that all of the children knew they could talk about it whenever they needed. 

 

The nightmares continued, but grew farther apart.  Jemma joined the night terror crew, waking with a soft scream still heard by her concerned mother.  The Coulsons were glad they had opted for a king size bed since there were many nights it was shared by five.  Yet, that too became less and less a nightly occurrence and both parents were slow to admit they missed the company.

 

All of the kids visited a counselor who slowly eased them from therapy, keeping only Fitz and Skye as regular weekly patients while seeing Jemma and Trip only as needed. 

 

The scariest event the family dealt with in the time before the school year ended was what started as Skye’s minor surgery.  The little girl was scheduled to have a myringotomy, after several more painful ear infections.  Jemma was thrilled at the prospect and developed posters and literature to inform the family of everything that would happen during the procedure.  Her photos and descriptions were so vivid they sent poor Fitz running to the lavatory with just a glance.  Trip looked a little green as well, but managed to keep his lunch by excusing himself before Jemma’s dissertation gained more depth. 

 

Skye was fascinated with the diagrams, staring at them with a scrunched up expression.  “How I get this in my eeors, Zemma?”  She tilted her head at her sister as she asked.  The little girl looked back with her hands on her ears, examining them with her small fingers.  “My eeors no big, Zemma.  You make a wong pitszur.”

 

While Phil and Melinda snickered silently at the girls’ discussion, Jemma merely smiled and patted her little sister’s shoulder.  “No, darling, this is not _your_ ear.  It’s just a representation of the human ear so you’ll know what to expect during your myringotomy.  I don’t want you to be anxious.”

 

“I no have d you man eeors, Zemma.  Is him gonna puts wings in my eeors?”  Skye’s eyes grew wide as she slapped her hands over both ears and turned to Melinda, shaking her head.  “Mama, I no want no Zemma’s wing onna me.  An I no want any an shush eetho. Kay?”

 

Melinda quickly scooped up her baby before the explanation became food for Skye’s fears.  Dr. Stephen’s explanation was much more child friendly and left the little girl oblivious to the upcoming procedure.  Skye buried her face in her mother’s neck, hands still planted over her ears.

 

Phil stepped next to his elder daughter who stood holding her pointer and looking deflated.  “That was a great presentation, princess.  We’ve all learned quite a bit about what all of this,” he spread his arms across Jemma’s paraphernalia.  He patted her back and leaned down to whisper in her ear.  “I think it might be a little overwhelming for her.”  He cocked his head slightly toward his wife and baby.  Melinda smiled over Skye’s head as she swayed back and forth, shushing the little girl in her arms.

 

Two days later, Phil hurried into Skye’s school after receiving a call from Mrs. O’Boyle telling him she was not feeling well.  He didn’t need to ask when he was met by a red-eyed little girl that burst into tears as soon as she spotted him.  Heat radiated from Skye as she rested her head on her father’s shoulder while he spoke to the school administrator. 

 

Phil carried the sleeping child into the house and up to her room upon arriving at home.  A quick glance at the clock told him it would be at least two hours before Melinda would return from her trip to Philadelphia to discuss security for an upcoming celebrity event.  The coordinator had requested her personally.  He’d convinced her everything would be fine and that he and the kids would have supper together.  He would have all of them in bed before she returned and would meet her at the door with a glass of wine.  She merely laughed through fluttery lips.  He had called her before leaving the office, twenty minutes before he picked up their very sick little girl.  

 

Phil pulled off Skye’s sweaty uniform, leaving her in only the tiny rose bud printed panties she wore then covered her with a light blanket.  He touched his lips lightly on her forehead and knew immediately her fever was higher than the lip-check could gage.  However, she was sleeping peacefully for the time being and it was, after all, naptime.  Skye normally slept two, sometimes two and a half, hours in the afternoon.  Mrs. O’Boyle told him they’d given her Tylenol® before he’d arrived.  It was too soon to give her another dose.  Phil opted for a cool washrag and after gently wiping her brow, he folded it and placed it on her forehead.

 

The distraught daddy placed a call to Dr. Stephens who was not available and would call back.  He tossed off his suit jacket, removed his tie, rolled up his sleeves and dropped into the large rocking chair in Skye’s room.  He’d stay close until mommy got home and took over the situation.

 

One hour and forty-five minutes later, Melinda rushed in the front door, dropped her keys, kicked off her shoes and was at the top of the stairs before Phil had risen from the rocker.  She rushed past her husband to the sleeping child, placing her hand then her lips on the little girl’s forehead.

 

“What did Maura say?”  She asked without turning toward him.

 

For a moment Phil was speechless, watching as his wife, who just a few months ago felt so inept in her role as a mom, easily took command of the situation.

 

“Phil?”  She asked softly, looking over her shoulder at her husband.

 

“She, ah…I’m still waiting for her to call back…they said she had an emergency at the hospital.  The nurse said it was probably another ear infection.”

 

“Was she pulling her ear or telling you it hurt?”  Melinda went through the steps she had become so familiar with since Skye’s bought with ear trouble.

 

Phil shook his head then realized she couldn’t see him.  “No, no she didn’t say anything, cried a little then fell asleep.  She’s been sleeping since we got in the car.”

 

“Did you give her anything?  Take her temp?”  Melinda asked, pulling the blanket from the little girl and placing her hand on the child’s hot body.

 

“No and no.  They gave her acetometophine at school about,” he checked his watch, “probably about three hours ago.”  He was beginning to sound flustered.

 

Melinda smiled at him, calmly.  “Phil, get me the thermometer from the white case in our bathroom, then give Dr. Stephens another call.”  He nodded and hurried from the room.

 

Skye opened her red-rimmed eyes and tried to speak, only to make a little squeaky sound before falling into sobs.  Melinda took her very warm little girl into her arms.  Skye rested her head on Melinda’s shoulder as she rubbed and patted her very warm back. 

 

“I no feels good, mama,” Skye forced her froggy voice, barely audible.  


Phil stepped into the room, handing Melinda the small case that she laid on the bed next to where she sat.  He looked at her with apprehension as she prepared the implement around holding her child.  She felt his nervousness without looking at him.  “It’s okay Phil, I’ve got this.  Go call the doctor and don’t hang up until you speak with her.”  He nodded at her once then backed out to use the phone.

 

Melinda laid the thermometer on the bed next to her and pulled Skye’s pillow closer.  She kissed the little girl’s hot forehead.  “Okay, bao bao, mama’s going to take your temperature and then give you some medicine to help you feel better.  She felt Skye’s sob more than she heard it, as the little girl’s voice was all but nonexistent.  Rubbing the child’s back, she shushed her calmly.  “It’s okay.  We’ll be quick and it will be all over. I promise.”  She hummed a familiar tune and continued rubbing her baby’s back until she calmed.

 

Gently laying the little girl across her lap, with her head resting on the pillow, she lowered her flowered panties and slipped the thermometer in place.  Skye whimpered and gave a small wriggle but stilled at her mother’s soft touch to her back, rubbing softly in small circles.  Melinda hummed quietly, remembering the first time she was forced to perform this duty.  It was a terrifyingly uncomfortable ordeal.  All these months later, it was merely routine.  Although Phil still skirted the whole thing, quickly excusing himself for a myriad of nonsensical reasons.  She had to laugh at the thought of what he would have done if he had spoken to the doctor.  This is the first order Maura would have given him.  She wasn’t sure who she should pity more, her baby or her husband.

 

Withdrawing the instrument, Melinda read the thermometer and gathered her baby back into her arms.  Skye continued to whimper her protest.  “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”  Melinda comforted her as she tugged her clothing into place and lifted her back to her shoulder.  Skye nodded, despite her inability to respond verbally.  Melinda jutted out her bottom lip in a mock pout and rocked her little girl gently.

 

Phil was coming down the hallway.  She could hear him speaking, telling whomever he had on the other end of the line what had happened up to this point.  He stepped into the room and nodded at Melinda.

 

“We can be there in fifteen minutes.”  He looked to his wife who nodded in agreement.

 

“One hundred three point nine,” Melinda stated as she rose and moved to pull a light T-shirt out of a drawer for her child.

 

Phil repeated the numbers and nodded a few times.  “We’ll see you there…thank you.”  He flipped the phone into his pocket, hurried from the room and returned with a bottle of liquid Tylenol®.  “Maura says, give her this.”  He poured the liquid into a small plastic cup and passed it to Melinda who had just pulled the T-shirt onto her lethargic child. 

 

Melinda sat on the bed with Skye seated back against her chest.  “Drink this, bao bao. It will help you feel better.”  She held the little cup to the girl’s lips.  Skye whined and turned her head.  Melinda brought it back gently and touched the cup to her lips a second time.  Skye protested with a bounce, pushing her mother’s hand away.  “Skye,” Melinda warned with just a hint of her firm voice.  The child allowed her mother to hold the cup while she drank the purple fluid.  She swallowed hard and immediately began crying, holding both ears for a moment before placing one hand on her neck as well.  Phil and Melinda exchanged concerned glances.

 

“Okay, angel,” Phil reached down and took the child from his wife, “time for us to take a little ride.”  He barely got Skye to his shoulder before the little girl began vomiting in bright purple.  Neither he nor Melinda could ever believe how any of their small children could bring up so much more than they had ever seen them take in.

 

 

Twenty-five minutes later the Coulsons were apologizing to Dr. Stephens for being late.  After Skye christened the waiting area and the examination room, there was no reason to elaborate.    

 

The doctor quickly checked both the child’s ears and looked into her throat.  She ordered a quick throat culture but told Skye’s parents even before the results were back that she more than likely had a serious case of streptococcal tonsillitis.  Both ears were also seriously infected.  She recommended a quick shot of penicillin since the little girl was not holding down the smallest dose of fever reducer.  Both parents nodded, agreeing it would be easier than fighting with their youngest for the next ten days in order to get the medicine into her.

 

Phil was elected to hold the patient as Melinda comforted her through the ordeal.  Skye clung to her daddy but spoke to her mama in a raspy voice.  “No Āiyō, mama, pliece mama, no Āiyō…” she cried, trying desperately to shimmy up her father’s torso in an effort to escape.

 

“Shì de bǎobèi. Zhè huì shānghài hěnduō. Māmā huì hé nǐ zài yīqǐ bàba yě zài zhèlǐ. Tā huì bāngzhù nǐ gǎnjué gèng hǎo. Qǐng wèi wǒmen yǒnggǎn, tiánměi de nǚhái.”  Melinda whispered close to Skye’s ear, letting her know it would be a big ouch but mama and daddy would help her to be brave.

 

Phil braced himself, knowing his little angel would soon become a rabid Tasmanian Devil as he watched Melinda gently expose Skye’s little bottom.  Dr. Stephens quickly swiped the area with an alcohol swab and a quick spritz of anesthetic spray.  Skye was already squealing her protest and squirming to be released, but Phil was stronger and held her fast.  Everyone took a deep breath as the doctor began the difficult injection. 

 

When the process was completed, Skye had screamed herself voiceless leaving the adults with her objection ringing in their ears.  She practically dove into Melinda’s arms refusing any comfort from Phil as she continued to wail in protest, despite her sore throat.  The ordeal left everyone exhausted.  After an extremely long twenty minute observation to be sure Skye had no reaction to the medication, the Coulsons were headed home with a very sick, very angry little girl.

 

 

 

Skye’s recovery was quick with the strong medication.  She was back at school in a few days, fever as well as pain free.  Three weeks later, the Coulsons once again met with Dr. Stephens for a second round of the antibiotic injection.  In the next three months, they revisited the procedure four times, enough for the doctor to determine that in addition to the myringotomy, that had now been postponed three times, the child would require an adenotonsillectomy.   Along with big brother, Fitz who had suffered several bouts of the same ailment, the surgeries were scheduled for the day after school ended for summer vacation.

 

Trip held a sleepy Skye on his hip as he attempted to encourage his smaller brother as they stood in the reception area of Virginia Hospital Center.  Phil and Melinda stood with Jemma, checking in the two patients at barely six thirty in the morning. 

 

“Hey, man, in a few hours you’ll get all the ice cream you want.”  Trip smiled at Fitz as he swayed gently with Skye half-asleep on his shoulder.

 

“I get ohmee, too?”  Skye asked around a yawn.  She lifted her head and peered into her big brother’s face.  “Mama no let us eats it foe beckfuss, Frip.”  She shook her head, scowled at him then dropped it back to her brother’s shoulder.

 

Fitz shuffled his feet then began pacing back and forth, looking from the eclectic collection of paintings decorating the reception area and his parents’ backs as they spoke to the intake nurse and signed forms.  Jemma smiled over her shoulder at him.  Fitz scowled back.

 

“Look at her,” he mumbled to Trip, “all willy-nilly over this.”  He raised his hands then dropped them suddenly.  “It’s not like she is going to have to undergo this…this…procedure.”  Fitz’s voice was a bit squeaky as he tried to shout around a whisper. 

 

Skye yawned again and turned her head into Trip’s neck, peeking at her brother over her brows.  She closed her eyes and snuggled into his embrace.  “Why Fizz all mad?”  She mumbled.

 

Trip laughed a bit as he looked down at her.  “Oh, Turbo isn’t mad,” he started, using Mack’s nickname for the little guy.  “He’s just using all that anger to hide how afraid he is.”  He turned and bumped his brother with the hip that wasn’t supporting their baby sister.

 

Fitz’s eyes grew dark as he turned on the older boy.  “I am not afraid!  I just have some major reservations about this entire affair.  I mean how do we know this is an absolutely necessary step.  It is certainly possible that I will just grow out of this.” 

 

Trip rolled his eyes having heard this argument at least a dozen times in the last week and more than twice a day since the surgery had been scheduled.  “Oh, yeah, little bro, like you are so cooperative when the doc has to give you that big ole shot every time you get tonsil sick.”  Trip huffed. 

 

Fitz glared at his brother.

 

Skye’s head popped up at the last comment.  “NO!  No, Āiyō…”  She squirmed and wriggled until Trip had no choice but to set her on the floor.  She immediately ran to her mother, reaching to be picked up.  “We go home, mama.  I no like heeor.  I no want heeor no more.”

 

Melinda glared at Trip for a moment before turning back to comfort the little girl.  He and Jemma had been warned about any mention of injections, needles, shots or a lengthy list of other terms that would only serve to feed the younger children’s apprehension.  The boy shrugged his shoulders with a guilty frown and quickly put a supporting arm around Fitz’s shoulders. 

 

A smiling nurse appeared in the room holding a clipboard and looking for Skye and Leopold.  Fitz rolled his eyes and shrugged off his brother’s arm.  He looked to Phil who gave him a quick thumbs up.  Melinda shifted Skye on her hip and reached for the little boy’s hand, still glaring at Trip over her shoulder.

 

*

 

“Look, Fizz, I gotz a brace-a-let juss like you gotz.”  Skye stood and held up her arm to display her hospital identification band.  Fitz frowned back from the hospital bed as he picked at the plastic ring around his wrist.

 

“I no like a this dress, mama.  My unnerwears is out.”  The little girl frowned as she twisted herself sideways attempting to look over her shoulder at her backside.  This allowed the hospital gown she’d been changed into slip sideways to reveal her Super Girl undies.  “I no like a my unnerwears out.”  She pinched her face into a comical scowl and reached to pull the gown closed only succeeding in pulling the entire fabric forward exposing most of her little body. 

 

Fitz rolled his eyes and pulled the light blanket on his bed closer around his legs, hopefully covering everything his identical gown might expose.  Melinda stifled a snicker at both her children’s actions.  She pulled Skye into her lap and retied the back of her gown as the little girl pushed her hair from her face with both hands.

 

“Good Morning!”  Dr. Stephens smiled as she stepped into the room.  “How are we doing this bright and early morning?”  She stood with both hands in her pockets.  A tall man dressed in blue surgical scrubs, including a surgical hat walked into the room a few steps behind her.  Skye spun around on her mother’s lap, wrapping her arms around Melinda and burying her face.

 

“No Āiyō, mama, no,” the little girl whimpered loud enough to be heard.

 

Fitz swallowed hard and debated dashing to his mother’s protection as well, despite the danger of the rear opening in his blue hospital gown.  Melinda shushed Skye and smiled at Fitz, letting him know she was there if he needed her.

 

“Nope, no eye-o, today folks,” Dr. Stephens smiled then turned to the confused doctor behind her.  “Skye and Fitz don’t like shots.”  She stuck out her bottom lip and shook her head, earning a small giggle from Fitz.  “Eye-O is Skye’s term for them, right Fitz?”  She squeezed the little boy’s foot.  “This is Dr. Thomas.” The doctor now spoke to Melinda.  “He’ll be the anesthesiologist today.”  Turning back to the children, she continued.  “Dr. T is going to help you relax and go to sleep so we can get rid of those nasty tonsils and adenoids that have been making you so sick.”

 

“I no wanna sleep.  I juss wake up.”  Skye whined, still buried in her mother’s neck.  “I want daddy.”  She sobbed.  Again, Melinda shushed her, patting her back gently.

 

Dr. Thomas moved to Fitz’s bed as the little boy backed away, again debating a dash to join his sister on his mom’s lap.  A quick blush covered his face, as he briefly believed the tall man could see what he was thinking.  The doctor held out his hand to the boy, who looked at it for a moment before realizing he was attempting merely to greet him.  Fitz took the offer and gave a weak shake.     

 

Phil entered the room with two cups of steaming liquid, excusing himself as he skirted around the doctor and placed them on the nearest surface.  He took the sniffling child from Melinda as Skye reached out to him.  She quickly settled herself in her daddy’s embrace as he stood and swayed gently with her resting on his shoulder.

 

Introductions were made again.  The Coulsons spoke with both doctors regarding the kids’ recent medical issues.  Dr. Thomas told them there would be no shots and that he would be giving them some medicine to drink that would make them very sleepy and when they woke they’d be back with mom and dad and the whole procedure would be complete.  Neither child looked as though they believed a word.  After having Phil and Melinda signed a few important forms, both doctors left the room.  Before the door shut completely, Fitz was out of his bed and on Melinda’s lap.  She could feel him trembling, hugged him tightly and kissed the top of his head as he laid it above her heart.

 

“It’s okay, nán yīng,” Melinda rested her head on her son’s head.  “I promise you will just go to sleep and you won’t remember anything.”  She rocked him to and fro, matching her husband’s rhythm with Skye.  Phil pressed his cheek against their baby’s forehead and shushed her as he rocked as well.

 

Fitz thought for a moment then sat up and looked into Melinda’s face, pulling a very serious expression.  “What is it I should not remember?  Is it so horrendous they have to wipe my memory clean?”  His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.

 

“No, bao bao,” Melinda chuckled as she pulled him back to her chest.  “It is just something that happens with all surgeries.  Nothing will be _horrendous_.”  She used his word in his tone of voice to convince him.

 

“If Jemma was here, she’d tell me what would really happen.”  He grumbled into her embrace.

 

Melinda smiled and hugged him tighter.  “Yes, she would,” she agreed.  “And you would probably tell her to stop.”

 

“You gotz Piderman on you unnerwear, Ftiz.”  Skye observed from her father’s embrace, causing her brother to pull his gown quickly closed…with mom’s help.  Phil whispered in the little girl’s ear as he moved to answer a quiet knock at the door.  A stout nurse wearing an Avengers printed scrub top stepped inside carrying a small cup.

 

“Morning folks,” she smiled a big friendly grin.  “I’ve got a little cocktail here for Leopold.”  She stood waiting.  Fitz turned his face into his mother’s bosom.  “I heard your favorite flavor was strawberry and we just happen to have that as this morning’s special.”  She moved closer to Melinda and Fitz. 

 

“Why hoer call Fizz, Leedapole?”  Skye giggled.  Phil turned her away from her brother and shushed her again.  “Hims Fizz, daddy.” The little girl protested.

 

The nurse smiled as Melinda urged her son to sit up and turn around.  She took the small cup from the woman and looked at the sparkling red liquid then showed it to Fitz, who took a quick sniff and turned his face.

 

“He needs to drink all of it, mom.”  The nurse whose badge read, Nora Joyce informed her.

 

“Come on, Fitz,” Melinda warned gently.  “It’s a just a little drink.”

 

Fitz looked at the liquid for a second, then to his mother.  He took a deep breath, accepted the cup and drank it in two gulps.  It really wasn’t bad, kinda like strawberry soda only without the bubbles.  Nurse Joyce smiled at him and spoke to his mother.  “It will take about ten minutes for him to get a little groggy then we’ll be in for him.  You can hold him until then and you can stay here in the room until we come for the little one.”  She smiled again, rubbed a hand over Fitz’s head and left the room.

 

By the time Fitz was being wheeled out of the room, Phil was struggling to have Skye drink the clear grape flavored liquid Nurse Nora had brought for her.  “I no like none.”  The little girl sobbed, pushing the small cup away.  “No want it, daddy.”  She whispered to Phil, pleadingly. 

 

Melinda walked the length of the hall with her son, holding his hand and reassuring him again.  Fitz was having a very hard time keeping his eyes open and answering his mother.  She stood for a moment watching the large swinging doors after the attendants wheeled him through.  The very nervous mother took a deep breath and turned toward the outer waiting room, hoping to check on her two eldest before dealing with Skye’s trip into the surgical theater.  For now daddy was comforting his baby girl.

 

“It’s okay, Skye.”  Phil held her close and looked at the nurse apologetically.  “You just need to take a little drink for daddy.”  He pleaded with his little one then spoke to the still smiling woman.  “She always gives us a hard time with taking meds.”  Nora nodded her understanding.

 

“Not to worry, Mr. Coulson.”  She smiled we’ll use our special ‘I don’t want that medicine mask’.” 

Skye peeked at the nurse.  “It’s so special that we only use it for little girls who don’t want to drink this.”  She looked at the small cup for a moment then dropped it into the wastebasket.  “I guess I could get it, but I don’t know.  Skye might be too little.”  She shook her head and looked forlorn.

 

“I no too liddle.  I gets a maskez on my faze.  I gots maskez at my howz.”  She had turned toward the nurse, avidly explaining as her little hands went up and down with her words.

 

“I don’t know,” Nora sighed, shaking her head.  “You have to be big enough to pick one of the really nice scents the mask has for little girls.” 

 

“I do it.”  Skye nodded. 

 

“Well, how do you think you’d like your mask to smell?”  The nurse winked at Phil.

 

Skye answered without missing a beat.  “Like daddy,” she squeaked as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

 

Nora smiled at Phil’s blush.  “I think we can do that.”  She understood the little girl meant her father’s cologne and it was an easy request on her special sleep mask machine.  A few minutes later, she brought the machine into the room and fitted the small breathing mask over Skye’s face telling her to keep it there in case someone else popped in with a cup of medicine.  Nora turned on the gas that lightly filled the mask, slowly helping Skye to relax while still safely in Phil’s arms.

 

Melinda returned after stopping in the outer waiting area to let Mack and Yoyo who had arrived to sit with the older kids.  She let them know the status of the younger children.  “Look mama, I gotz a maskez an I no drink a nassy stuffs.”  Skye’s voice was wobbly, her words slower than usual as her head bobbed on her father’s shoulder.  Melinda snickered as she took her baby into her arms and walked to her bed, lying her down and kissing her softly.

 

Within fifteen minutes Melinda made the trip down the hallway once again, this time accompanied by her husband, whose anxiety was well above her own.  They both kissed their little girl at the large swinging door then stood and watched until it stopped swinging.  Phil wrapped an arm around Melinda’s shoulders and let out an exasperated sigh.  Now came the worst part…waiting.

 

The wait was not long due to the fact that Dr. Stephens arranged the kids’ procedures to overlap.  Fitz was in recovery less than ten minutes after Skye’s gurney was wheeled through the doors.  He looked at his parents through watery eyes and promptly began vomiting uncontrollably.  Although this alarmed Phil and Melinda, the recovery room nurses assured them it was a normal reaction. 

 

“No worries, Mrs. Coulson,” the head nurse assured her.  “There’s always a bit of blood in the stomach after this procedure and some kids just have weaker systems than others.  We’ll just clean him up and give him some meds to stop the emesis.”  The girl informed Melinda as she pulled a clean gown from a cabinet along with fresh bedding.   The second nurse held a small basin in front of the suffering little boy.

 

Phil turned a bit green at his son’s reaction to surgery and excused himself quickly.  Melinda insisted on changing the little boy herself, then held him while the nurses changed the bedding and added the antiemetic to the IV still in his small hand.

 

Fitz continued to wake slowly, whimpering softly as he started to be aware of his surroundings.  After two more bouts of vomiting and a third change of gowns.  Melinda was also given a set of scrubs to replace her soiled clothing.   

 

The thought of dealing with a distraught Skye in the same condition put both parents on edge and due to the added myringotomy the little girl spent ten extra minutes in surgery.  Phil and Melinda jumped at the shrieking that preceded their little girl’s arrival in recovery as Skye’s voice echoed through the room.   

 

Melinda was at her side immediately trying to quiet the little girl who kept insisting she could not talk by screaming it at the top of her lungs.  Phil attended to the still woozy Fitz, offering him ice chips that he was able to keep down thanks to the medication the nurse had given him.  Skye continued insisting her voice was gone and no one could hear her, frantically clutching at Melinda who tried shushing her to no avail.

 

“Mama, I needs a drink, mama, pliece, mama,” Skye sobbed into her mother’s chest.  Melinda looked to the totally amused nurse who shook her head.

 

“Not for a little while, Skye.  Your tummy won’t like it very much.”  The young girl explained to the frantic child.

 

Skye’s eyes widened as she brought both hands to her neck and grasped it as if she was choking.  “I gonna die, pliece, mama, pliece gimme water, mama pliece.”  Her voice was raspy but higher than usual.

 

Melinda could not suppress the small laugh at Skye’s dramatics as she gently lowered the little girl’s hands and cuddled her to her chest.  “It’s okay, bao bao, in a little bit the nurse will let you have some ice chips.  You just need to wait until you feel better.”

 

Skye wailed against her mother’s chest.  “Daddy, helup me.  I needs water.  I gonna die, Daddy.”  She pushed away from her mother reaching out to Phil who continued to comfort a still queasy Fitz. 

 

“Mama’s going to give you some ice chips, just like Fitz, okay?” 

 

“No, no want ize zips, want water…”  Skye threw her head back which forced her to cough, bringing up small amounts of blood which immediately startled the little girl.  “Look, mama, I’s bleedin cuz I needs water.”  She reached up and put her hands on Melinda’s cheeks forcing her mother to look at her.  “Pliece, mama, no wanna die.” 

 

Melinda took one of her daughter’s hands and kissed it softly as she shook her head,  “In a bit, Skye.”

 

The child looked across the room spotting a tall glass setting on a table.  “Look, mama, who is that water.  I could have it, pliece mama.”  Skye was inconsolable.

 

Melinda let out a long breath and looked at her husband.  “Damn it, Phil, give me that glass.”  She nodded toward the small plastic cup next to Fitz’s bed.  “If she wants it that badly, what can it hurt.  If she throws it up…well,” she threw out one arm motioning toward her change of clothing.  Phil took the small pitcher on the nightstand next to Fitz and filled the cup then handed it to his wife.  Melinda held it to Skye’s lips.  The little girl sat up, grabbed the cup and drank it’s contents before her mother could slow her down.  She let out a relieved breath, smiled and handed back the cup.

 

“More,” Skye swallowed hard and waited for her mother’s reply.

 

Melinda shook her head and put the cup down.  “That’s enough for now.  You can have more after we see the doctor.”  Skye gave a pout and dropped herself back against her mother’s chest, noticing for the first time the clothing Melinda wore.

 

“Mama, you a doctor now?”  She yawned as she snuggled closer and patted her mother’s shoulder.

 

Skye and Fitz were given a clean bill of health and sent home the next morning.  Two weeks later, they were back to their regular routines.  They joined their siblings and parents in the excitement of helping Trip’s grandmother move into the garage apartment and preparing for the big event which was only two weeks away. 

 

“We gotz a gramma now,” Skye smiled at Jemma.  “We dint have a gramma, but Frip gives us one.”  She held up one finger.  “Him shares hims gramma with us, right Zem…Jemma.”  She smiled again at the fact she had corrected herself. 

 

Jemma smiled back.  “Yes, darling, we have a grandmother.  We have a family, all of us together.”


	45. Tying up Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone deals with their anxiety and questions as the children's adoption finalization hearing draws nearer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing get a little frisky toward the end of this chapter, nothing explicit because  
> to know is nothing at all  
> but to imagine......  
> is EVERYTHING
> 
>  
> 
> Always hoping to hear what you think of this endeavor

 

"You’re going to have to decide before you get there.”  Trip let out a frustrated breath before bouncing the basketball twice and shooting it toward the basket across the court.  It hit the rim and bounced to the left.  He shook his head as he jogged to retrieve it.

 

“The trajectory is still off.  You need to adjust your stance about six inches to the left and hold the ball six, no seven degrees higher before you lift it off.”  Fitz informed his older brother without lifting his head from the notebook in which he scribbled.

 

“Are you even listening?”  Trip was exasperated as he dribbled the ball and attempted to follow the little boy’s directions.

 

“I heard you.” Fitz replied.  “You’re still leaning too far to the right.”

 

Trip shook his head and straightened his body attempting to judge just how high seven degrees might be.  He bounced the ball again and shot.  It circled the rim then dropped through.  Trip smiled as he turned to Fitz who sat at a small table at the far end of the garage basketball court.  He tapped the pencil he held on his chin and squinted in thought.

 

“You want it to go straight through, not wobble around like that.  The chance of it going in the opposite direction is too great.  Perhaps we should…”

 

“Perhaps we should decide what you’re going to tell Mom and Da, little man.  You are bush beating and don’t deny it.”  Trip approached with the ball under one arm and dropped into the chair opposite his younger brother.  He picked up the water bottle from the table and drank it all in one long swig.

 

Fitz dropped the pencil to the table and frowned at Trip.  “What if they become angry?  What if they change their mind?”  His voice was quiet and small as he looked down at his hands resting in his lap.

 

Trip tilted the empty bottle at the smaller boy and swallowed the last of the water.  “They aren’t gonna change their minds, little bro.”  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “They won’t be angry either, ya little worry wart.”  The older boy pushed himself up from the chair and dribbled the ball across the court before tossing it high and straight through the basket.  He turned and smiled broadly at the younger child.

 

Fitz smiled weakly, gave a quick thumbs-up and let out a shaky breath.  He wasn’t so sure, but Trip’s support meant a lot. 

 

*

 

Skye sat on a child-sized chair in the family room with a baby doll on her lap.  She spoke to it softly, holding a toy baby bottle to its painted on lips.  Jemma smiled at her little sister from the couch where she sat with a large reference book.

 

“Jemma, you be my sisser fo-ever?”  Skye suddenly broke the silence in the large room.

 

“Of course, I will be your forever sister, bao bao.”  Jemma replied using her mother’s term for the little girl.  “You and I will always be sisters.”

 

Skye scrunched up her face, stood and carried her ‘baby’ to the couch.  “My baby bees not happy.”  The little girl shook her head putting on a very sad face. 

 

Jemma closed her book and took the dollie from her little sister, hugging it to her shoulder and patting its back.  “It’s okay baby, you don’t have to be sad.” 

 

Skye watched as her big sister comforted the dollie.  “Daernian say you not be my sisser.”  She sighed as she climbed up to sit next to Jemma. 

 

“That’s just silly, Skye.  Of course I am your sister and you are my sister.”  Jemma smiled as she handed the dollie back to Skye.

 

“Na ah,” the little girl shook her head.  “Daernian say you gotsta have a baby from a mama.  Then you be a sisser.  I not be in mama’s belly, Jemma.  I be in Sagnes.  Hoer say you not my sisser for real.”  From the look on Skye’s face, Jemma was sure tears would follow.  “Hoer say mama not my mama acuz I growed not in her belly.”

 

Jemma stared at her little sister for a beat then stood and took her hand.  “I think we need to talk to mama, Skye.”  She tugged the smaller girl to her feet and escorted her to the kitchen.

 

Melinda looked up from the forms she had spread across the table at the two little girls standing hand in hand in the doorway.  “Hello, ladies,” she smiled.  Neither girl answered.  “Do you need something?”  She put down the paperwork in her hands and turned her full attention to her daughters.

 

“Skye has a question, well more of a dilemma and I don’t quite know how to go about helping her.”  Jemma spoke to her mother but looked at her sister.

 

“Okay,” Melinda responded, her curiosity peaked.

 

Skye frowned at her sister.  “I no have a delma.”

 

Melinda smiled.  Skye was working on developing her speech and doing well since her ear surgery.  However, some words were still difficult to understand and to pronounce, especially living with a brother and a sister that used words much more advanced than other children.  Her mom motioned for her to come closer and the little girl hurried to climb on her mother’s lap.  “Now, tell mama what the problem is.”

 

Skye looked at her mother for a moment, squinted her eyes and twisted her mouth to one side.  “You take me to Sagnes, mama?”

 

Melinda looked to Jemma, who shrugged her shoulders and turned down the sides of her mouth.  Sometimes translating Skye’s attempts at vocabulary was a challenge.  Melinda thought for a moment then answered.  “No, bao bao, you are not going back to St. Agnes.  You live here with me and daddy and Jemma and the boys.  We are your family.”  She smiled thinking the issue was resolved.

 

Skye wrinkled her brow and shook her head.  “No, mama, not t’day, a b’fore day.  Affer I growed in you belly.”

 

Melinda swallowed the ice that pierced her heart and wrapped her arms around the little girl.  “Oh, baby, I would never, ever leave you, ever.”

 

“You didn’t grow in mama’s belly Skye.  None of us did.”  Jemma pointed out the fact of the matter.

 

“Daernian say mamas get babies from thems bellies.  Hoer new brudder comed from her mama’s belly.”  Skye looked at Melinda with a quivering bottom lip.  “Hoer say you not be my mama cuz I come to Sagnes.”  Her voice began to waver as she placed her hands on Melinda’s cheeks.  “You my mama, right?  I you baby, right?”

 

Melinda hugged her baby tighter as Jemma moved closer and placed her arms around both of them.  The mother knew the day would come when she would need to explain all of this to Skye but didn’t think it would come so quickly.  Jemma and Fitz were old enough to understand the circumstances of their coming to be part of the Coulson family. Skye was so young Melinda didn’t think it would affect her so deeply.

 

“She is our mama, Skye.  Darienne is wrong.  Babies come from love and mama loves you very much.”  Jemma tried to help.

 

Melinda smiled at her older daughter.  “I love all of you, very much.”  She pulled Jemma into her hug.  For a moment she held her girls and just basked in the joy of having them until she felt Skye’s gentle pat on her tummy.

 

“I growed at Sagnes, mama?”  Skye’s little voice came from within her mother’s embrace.

 

Melinda kissed her head as Jemma stood back but kept one arm around her mother’s shoulders.  “No, baby you did not grow at St. Agnes.  You grew inside a very special lady who was so very lucky to have you.”  Melinda began as she pulled Skye to sit up straight and look at her.  “That lady was so sad because she couldn’t take care of you like you needed her to so she took you to St. Agnes because she knew that’s where I would find you.”

 

Skye’s eyebrows raised as her eyes widened.  “You look ed for me?”  She pointed her finger toward her own chest.

 

Melinda nodded.  “I did.  My heart wanted a baby, a very special baby…” she tickled Skye’s belly and both girls giggled.  “I looked and looked, daddy and I both looked for a very long time and after a while we thought we would never find our baby.”  Melinda stuck out her lip in a pout that Skye matched evenly.  Jemma matched it as well, without even realized she did so. 

 

“Was you sad, mama?”  Skye sympathized.

 

Melinda nodded, still pouting.  “We were very sad, Skye.  In fact sometimes mama and daddy would cry because we needed our baby so much.”  Jemma wrapped both arms around her mother’s neck and hugged her while Skye tilted her head to the side listening intently.

 

“What you do mama?  What daddy do?”  She asked.

 

Melinda took a deep breath and rested her chin on Skye’s head.  She reached up and squeezed Jemma’s hand as her older daughter laid her head on her mother’s shoulder.  Jemma realized Melinda was telling them how she and Phil had mourned the fact that they could have no children of their own and that they ached with that fact for a long time.

 

“For a long time, we just thought we wouldn’t have our baby so we just stopped looking.  We worked and did all the things we had to do and didn’t think about how sad we were.  Then one day the telephone rang and we had to go to help a very sad little girl.”  Melinda turned and looked into Jemma’s eyes.  The little girl took a deep breath and nodded, giving her mother permission to continue. 

 

“Why she sad, mama?”  Skye urged her mother to go on.

 

“She was all alone and very scared,” Melinda told her at Jemma’s smile.  “We were scared, too…scared that she might not like us or might not want us to care for her.”  Melinda spoke to her wide-eyed baby girl.  “I didn’t know if I could be a mama, or if I would know how, but I knew I loved that little girl and wanted her to love me.”

 

“Did hoer?”  Skye wondered.

 

“She did.”  Jemma answered.  “She loved her very much, even though she was scared and afraid.  She was glad she came to get her and wanted her to love her too.”  Melinda smiled and bumped her forehead against the older girl’s forehead.  Jemma smiled back.

 

“And then,” Melinda turned and looked down at Skye, “Daddy brought home a little boy that was dirty and angry and said sooooo many very bad words.”  She tilted her head back and exaggerated the word.  Skye and Jemma giggled.  “But he was also scared and alone and trying very hard not to let anyone know.  So mama and daddy tried to help him and before they knew it they loved him too.”  Skye smiled and clapped her little hands.  She liked this story.

 

“Now you has two babies, mama.  You an daddy not sad no more?”  Skye asked with a little frown.

 

“Mama was scared but not daddy, in fact daddy was so brave that he thought we needed a big boy to come live with us and help us to be a family and we loved him too.”  Melinda smiled then quickly frowned again and let out a dramatic sigh. “But we still didn’t find our _little_ baby.” 

 

“Was hoer losted?”  Skye asked with wide eyes.  Jemma giggled.

 

“A little bit,” Melinda nodded, holding her fingers a space apart, “but one day when mama and Fitz and Jemma were not looking this little baby came zooming from nowhere found us.  She just wrapped her arms around my heart and I knew right then that I found my bao bao.”

 

“Hoer is me!”  Skye beamed and poked her finger into her chest.  “You founded me and I founded you!”  The little girl wrapped her arms around her mother in a quick hug then sat back up.  “I glad you founded me.  I not losted no more fo ever.”

 

“Nope,” Melinda agreed as she tapped the end of Skye’s nose with her finger.  “You didn’t grow in my belly, baby girl.  None of you did.”  She turned to look at Jemma who still stood at her side.  “But you were always right here in my heart.  Even before I saw your little faces, you were right here. ” She tapped a hand against her chest.  Skye placed her hand on top of her mother’s hand and Jemma did the same.

 

“We growed in you hoert, mama?”  Skye smiled at her mother.

 

“Yes, baby girl you did, every one of you did.”  Melinda could not stop the tear that ran over her cheek and was glad when Phil came through the back door right on cue. 

 

Skye slipped off her mother’s lap without noticing the tear that Jemma discretely wiped away.  She hugged Melinda’s neck and kissed her cheek.  “Wǒ ài nǐ, mama.”  Jemma whispered.

 

Phil smiled as his baby jumped up and down in front of him with her arms in the air.  He scooped her up and kissed her neck before kissing her cheek.  She giggled and squirmed in his embrace then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on both cheeks.  “What are my girls up to all huddled together this afternoon?”  Phil smiled as he looked toward Jemma and his wife.

 

“Mama sayed I growed in you hoert, daddy.”  She laid a hand on the center of his chest.  “I growed heeor, daddy?”  She tilted her head, patted his chest and looked into his eyes.

 

Phil looked at Melinda with a slight bit of confusion then back at the little girl in his arms.  He kissed her again and pulled her close.  “You sure did, angel eyes.”  He walked across the kitchen, bent down and kissed his wife then his older daughter.  Jemma covered her eyes as Skye giggled.  “Your mama grew there first and then she made room for all of you.”

 

Skye put her head against Phil’s chest and listened.  “I hero you hoert beeping, daddy.”  The little girl picked up her head and looked at her father. “You gotz a big hoert cuz wees all in there?”  She pressed her head back to his chest.

 

Melinda stood pulling Jemma with her and wrapped her arms around her husband, sandwiching the girls between them.  “Yes, Phil Coulson you have a heart bigger than most and wees all in there.”  She kissed him deeply as both girls giggled inside their embrace.

 

*

 

“Hey, da!” Trip greeted Phil as he sauntered into the garage.  Phil looked up from the engine of his prize antique candy apple red 1962 Corvette.  Trip carefully made his way around the car without touching it in any way, shape or form.

 

“What’s up, bud?”  Phil asked as he wiped his hands on a greasy rag.  Trip was not used to seeing Phil in jeans and a dirty T-shirt.  It almost made him forget why he’d come into the garage in the first place.

 

“I think you need to have a chat with the little guy.”  He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

 

“Oh?”  Phil answered.  “What did he do now?”

 

Trip couldn’t help laughing.  “Nothing, well not that I know of anyway…but he’s got himself all twisted up over this court thing on Thursday and well, I told him to talk to you but you know how pig headed the little geek can be.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  

 

“Where is he?”  Phil asked as he gingerly let the hood of the car click closed without so much as a bump.

 

Trip shook his head and stifled another laugh.  “He’s parked his skinny little butt on the front stoop, says it helps him think when he counts the cars that pass the house.  Woo-eee, he’s an odd little dude.” 

 

Phil eased his way around Trip and reached to pull the garage door closed.  The boy moved aside then watched as his father made his way toward the front of the house.  He shrugged again then headed for the basketball court.

 

 

“Hey, little man,” Phil greeted his younger son as he sat next to him and gently patted his shoulder.  “What’s up?”  Fitz looked at his father and shook his head.  “Hmmm,” Phil responded.  “Is that a _nothing_ shake or an _I don’t_ _know_ shake?”

 

Fitz thought for a moment and kicked at the gravel on the sidewalk at his feet.  “I believe it’s an ‘I don’t know how to tell you’ shake.”  He mumbled.

 

Phil kicked at the gravel, imitating the boy’s action.  “You know you can tell me anything, Fitz.  We’ve had this conversation before.”  Fitz nodded.  “So, you do something you might be in trouble for doing? Something we might need to go inside to discuss?”

 

The little boy shook his head vigorously.  “No sir, absolutely not sir.”  He stood quickly and faced Phil with his hands out in front of him.

 

Phil pursed his lips and nodded once.  “Okay, no problem then.”  He patted the stoop next to him and Fitz sat back down, once again kicking at the gravel.  Once again, Phil did the same.

 

“So, you all ready for Thursday?”  Phil inquired still shuffling his sneakers in the loose gravel.

 

Fitz shrugged his shoulders.  “Mom says I have to wear a suit and a tie.  It’s a real tie, not one of those you clip to your shirt collar.”

 

Phil nodded his approval and gave a quick thumbs-up.

 

“I don’t believe I know how to tie it properly.”  Fitz sighed.

 

“Shouldn’t be a problem, I’ve got a bit of experience.  I think I can help you out.”

 

This time Fitz nodded.

 

Again the pair fell silent.

 

Phil picked a blade of grass and folded it in half.  He twirled it in his fingers for a moment.  “Aren’t nervous are you?”  He held the grass between his thumbs and blew through it causing a high-pitched whistle.

 

Fitz watched and smiled then quickly dropped his gaze and took a short breath.  “It isn’t wise to lie about things, especially important things.”

 

Phil stopped whistling for a second and answered.  “Nope, never a good idea.”  He blew into the blade of grass again, causing a different pitched whistle.

 

“What if I answer the questions wrong?”  Fitz sighed.

 

“You won’t.” Phil dropped the grass and searched through the lawn for another blade.

 

“What if I get all nervous and say nothing?”

 

“The judge will understand.”  Phil assured him.

 

“What if you change your mind?”  The boy mumbled so quietly Phil almost didn’t hear.

 

He stopped and threw his arm around Fitz, pulling him close.  Phil laughed a little, “do you really think after all we’ve been through that I…that _we_ would change our minds?”  He looked at the little boy who did not answer.  “Fitz, it’s just a procedure.  We already consider you our son.  This just makes it legal.”  He pulled him closer then let him lean back.”

 

Fitz smiled weakly.  “But what if you don’t like what I say?”

 

Phil pulled the boy closer and kissed the top of his head.  “Won’t be the first or the last time, I’d imagine, but it won’t change how we feel about you.”

 

“I don’t want to change my name.”  Fitz said quickly then exhaled with relief as he finally said it.

 

Phil stopped, struggling to understand what the little boy was trying to tell him.  Fitz took the silence as his father’s disapproval.

 

“See…see, I knew you would be angry with me.  Now, I’ve gone and made a mess of everything.”  He was speaking rapidly, taking deep breaths between his words.

 

“Whoa, whoa…little man, slow down, take a breath,” Phil pulled his son on to his lap. 

 

“It was my maw’s name.  It’s all I’ve got left of her.  It was the only thing she could give me.  I need to keep it.”  Fitz continued to speak so quickly it was hard to understand every word.

 

Phil put a hand on the boy’s chest and spoke slowly.  “Fitz, slow down.  Take a deep breath and listen to me.”  The boy looked at his father and did as he was told.  “No one is going to make you change your name.”

 

Fitz drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “But…but how can I be your son if I don’t have your name.  I really want to be your son, da.  I do.”  Now he was almost in tears. 

 

“Hey, you are my son, Leopold James Fitz.  You’re _our_ son, no matter what your name might be.  It doesn’t matter, Fitz.”  Phil hugged the boy tighter. 

 

“For real?”  Fitz asked from where his head rested under his father’s chin.

 

“For real,” Phil repeated.

 

“Forever?” Fitz needed to be sure.  He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the answer.

 

“Forever and ever and ever,” Phil smiled.

 

“Even if I’m just Fitz?”  The boy whispered softly.

 

“Especially since you’re Fitz,” Phil hugged him tightly.

 

The little boy turned and wrapped his arms around Phil.  “I wish you were always my da.”

 

Phil smiled against the curly head next to his cheek as he hugged the little boy.  “I’m glad you’re my son, Fitz and I will always be your da.”

 

*

 

Phil wandered into the kitchen on a very unusually quiet Saturday morning.  He breathed in the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pulled his ‘Worlds Best Dad’ mug from the rack then filled it.  Placing the cup on the table, he opened the refrigerator and searched for what might be left of the milk.  A soft tap on his shoulder turned him around to find Melinda standing behind him holding said milk out to him.  He took it with a smile and brushed a kiss across her forehead as he moved to pour it into his coffee.

 

Melinda smiled at her husband’s disheveled hair and wrinkled T-shirt.  She almost laughed as he took a sip of his beloved morning beverage, closed his eyes as he swallowed and let out a satisfied breath.

 

“What?”  Phil frowned as he opened his eyes and noticed Melinda watching.  She merely shook her head and raised her cup of tea toward him.  He nodded and did the same with his mug before taking another sip.  For a few minutes, they enjoyed their caffeinated drinks and each other’s company.

 

Phil glanced at the clock as he set his mug on the counter and leaned against it.  “Awful quiet for a Saturday morning, no way the crew is still sleeping at this hour.”

 

“Nope,” Melinda smiled.  “They’re all up, fed and fully dressed.”

Phil was impressed…and confused.  “So, why so quiet?”  He picked up his mug and moved to pour a second cup.

 

Melinda rose from where she was seated, moved behind her husband, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his back.  Phil smiled and set down his cup, resting his hands atop hers.  “Fitz and Jemma are spending the day with Bobbi and Hunter.”  She rocked back and forth, as she spoke.  “They’re on some secret mission.”  They both chuckled at the statement.  “Skye is with Mack and Yoyo visiting the zoo and Trip is helping with a picnic at his grandmother’s church.”

 

“Hmmm,” Phil pondered the possibilities of a childfree day.  He turned around in his wife’s embrace and smiled down at her.  “No kids all day, huh?”

 

“Not one,” Melinda smiled back up at him.

 

“Guess we’ll have to find something to do with all this free time, then, won’t we?”  He grinned as he pulled her into a passionate kiss.

 

Melinda let out a soft breath and smiled again, “perhaps some quality mommy and daddy time?”  She drew little circles on his chest with her index finger.

 

Phil wrapped his hand around hers and kissed her fingertips, “high quality, mommy, very high quality.”

 

An hour later, the couple lay tangled in the sheets of their king-sized bed.  Melinda’s head rested on Phil’s chest, his hand on her bare back, both breathless in their moment of post passion.  After a few minutes, Melinda began running her finger across Phil’s chest.

 

“Do you know what today is?”  She asked him in a hushed whisper.

 

Phil let out a satisfied breath that held a soft laugh.  “I think it’s still Saturday.” 

 

She looked up at his chin without lifting her head and gave him a soft tap.  “I’m serious, Phil.”

 

He laughed again and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer as he turned on his side and met her nose to nose.  “Okay,” he grinned and kissed the tip of her nose, “tell me.”

 

“One year, Phil.  It was one year ago today that I got that horrible phone call…the call that started all of this.”  Melinda sighed.

 

“All of this?”  He grinned as he pulled her closer, allowing their bodies to brush together.

 

Melinda drew a quick breath through her teeth and put both her hands on Phil’s chest.  “Stop.”

 

He kissed her forehead and ceased his advance.  “The beginning of our crazy family…I remember, Mel.  Any regrets?”

 

She shook her head.  “None.  You?”

 

He paused for a moment and a shiver of tension caused Melinda to hold her breath.  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss this…our time together.”  He kissed her forehead again.  “But, no…not one regret.  I would do it all again in a heartbeat.”  Melinda released her breath.

 

“Less than a week and they’ll be ours,” she smiled as she snuggled into his embrace.

 

“There’s still time to change your mind, you know they’ll be teenagers one day.”  He spoke into her hair.

 

Melinda snorted.  “I think we’ll survive, we’re in for the long haul, Phillip Coulson.  No going back now.”

 

“Just keep moving forward.”  He smiled. 

 

Melinda smiled and softly kissed her husband’s neck, feeling him quiver beneath her affection.  She continued kissing up to his chin and then his lips as he pulled her against his form, slowly rolling her to her back and covering her body with his own.

 

She stopped him, inches from her face, their breath combined as one.  “I love you Phil Coulson.” Melinda smiled into his eyes.  “I love you being the father to our children.  I love you loving them.”

 

He kissed the tear that escaped her eye.  “Melinda May, I have loved you since the first time I saw you.  I love the mother you’ve become.  I love our children through you…around you…and in you.”  Phil kissed her with each word as he finished and lowered himself against her warm body.

 

Melinda sighed into his ear as they became one, pulling him close and holding him tightly.  She smiled as he nuzzled her neck and ran her hand through his already messy hair.  They had all day, all day to be together. 

 

Jemma had made a statement a few days ago, telling her little sister that babies came from love.  Lying here, with Phil loving her and her loving him, made that statement true.  Their love, their passion had never and would never spark life within her, but the love they shared every day and every moment gave life to their wonderful brood of children, to the family they created.  Every time Phil came to her today and any day, Melinda knew.  It was this love, his love encompassing her that gave her the strength to be the mother those children needed.  And her overwhelming love for Phil made him their father.


	46. May We Be One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big day has finally arrived!

 

“Well, good morning.  I am so glad we could all talk this morning.”  The tall slender woman addressed three wide-eyed children seated at the small table in the Coulson’s family room.  Her strange accent fascinated Jemma.  
  
”Are you from Australia?”  The little girl inquired.

 

“That I am,” the woman smiled as she opened her briefcase and tapped a few papers on the table before sitting down.  “How observant of you, I’ve lived here for about ten years but I guess my accent still gives me away.”

 

Fitz scowled at his sister’s ‘sucking up’ to this strange woman.  He didn’t like strangers and he didn’t like answering questions, but he really didn’t like the fact that this lady was scaring Skye.  He bumped his chair closer to his baby sister and placed his arm around her shoulders.  Skye took it as an invite and quickly scooted from her chair to sharing with her brother.  She wriggled her little form next to his and laid her head against his shoulder.

 

The woman could not help the smile it caused.  “Well I know all of your names so I guess you should know mine.  I’m Agnes Ryan and I’m just here to talk to you a little bit before you go to court with your new mom and dad.”

 

“We aren’t supposed to speak with strangers.”  Fitz sneered at the woman.

 

“Fitz,” Jemma scolded.

 

Agnes held up a hand and smiled again.  “You must be Leopold.”  She nodded toward the little boy.

 

Fitz crossed his arms over his chest, bumping Skye aside for the moment.  “Seein’ I’m the only lad here, that would be a fine assumption, but I’m called Fitz.”  The boy scowled.

 

“Duly noted,” Agnes smiled again.

 

“He’s not usually so cross,” Jemma made excuses for her brother.  “He’s just a bit apprehensive about this interview.”

 

“I am not the least bit anxious, uneasy, worried, nervous or otherwise fearful about this interrogation.”  Fitz jumped to his feet defending himself.

 

“I want mama,” Skye sniffled as her lip quivered and a tear ran over her cheek.

 

“Oh, now look what you’ve done,” Jemma warned as she rose and moved to comfort Skye.

 

“It’s okay, little one, you’ll see Melinda in a few minutes.”  Agnes tried to comfort the little girl as well.

 

Fitz dropped back into his chair next to Skye and pulled her close wrapping both arms around her.  “She’s our mama, not Melinda.”  He corrected, narrowing his eyes at Agnes.  Jemma moved to the chair Skye had vacated and took her little sister’s hand in her own.

 

Agnes stared at the united front she faced and smiled at the camaraderie the children had formed.  She made a quick note.  “Your mama is right outside. We’re…”

 

“Just ask the bloody questions why doncha, then.”  Fitz barked.

 

“Fitz!” Jemma warned again earning a harsh glare from her brother.  “Mama is going to be very cross with you.”

 

“And what happens when your mama becomes cross with any of you?”  Agnes used the girl’s comment to segue into her first question.

 

“She gets angry when she’s cross.” Fitz rolled his eyes.  “What do you think she does?”

 

“Well, I don’t know.  Why don’t you tell me?”  Agnes encouraged.

 

Jemma looked at her brother and shook her head.  “Mama shouts, well she does shout very quietly and that’s much worse that loud shouting,” the little girl explained, “but mostly she talks to us and explains why we should make better choices.”

 

Agnes nodded at Jemma then turned to Fitz.  “Is that what she does, Fitz?”

 

Fitz looked over his brow at the woman.  “Are ya callin’ my sister a liar, then?”

 

“No,” the woman remained calm, “just wondering if she does the same with you.

 

“Yeah, she talks to me, shouts a bit sometimes and explains why I should be punished if I’ve done wrong.”  He watched as Agnes jotted notes in her book.

 

“I see,” Agnes pursed her lips and looked directly at Fitz.  “And how does she punish you?  Does she hurt you?”

 

Fitz stood, rolled his eyes, expelled a frustrated breath and threw his hands in the air.  “Dè a 'cheist fuilteach gòrach! Tha seo a 'ghalla sùghadh gaoithe!”

 

“Fitz!”  Jemma stomped her foot in her anger with her brother.  She really did not understand the Gaelic Scot her little brother sometimes rambled but she knew it had to be something very naughty.  Skye’s whimper turned into a sob.  Jemma immediately comforted her.

 

Agnes grinned at the little boy.  “Neo-glè ghrinn, duine òg. Chan Mama bheil thu a 'cleachdadh seòrsa de chànan?”  Fitz’s jaw dropped as his cheeks reddened.  “My gran was a Scot, Fitz.  She didn’t speak a word of English.”  She eyed the little boy with an unspoken reprimand.

 

He looked down at his feet and spoke softly.  “She’d be quite angry.”  He looked up quickly.  “You’ll not be tellin’ her then, will ya?”

 

Agnes shook her head.  “How about we start over?  I’m not here to cause a problem Fitz, just to finish some paperwork.  Okay?”

 

The little boy shrugged his shoulders, dropped back into the chair already occupied by both of his sisters and slumped down in defeat.  Skye wriggled out of Jemma’s embrace, turned  and wrapped her arms around Fitz.  He sat up straight and pulled her into a hug of his own.  “She thinks you mean to take her away.”  He informed the woman who watched the children comfort each other.

 

“Skye doesn’t trust strangers.  She hasn’t had many positive experiences with them, I’m afraid.”  Jemma tilted her head and used her most pathetic face to plead her case.  “She really needs Mama.  She’s positively not going to cooperate with you.”

 

Agnes watched as Fitz whispered into his baby sister’s ear and rocked her just a little bit.  She smiled at the scene.  These children truly cared for each other.  She jotted another note.

 

Jemma took a deep breath.  “I know what you really want to know is if our parents are abusive or if we are afraid of them.  I can honestly tell you for all of us that they in fact are not.  They are very patient and understanding with us, but not overly permissive.  We have rules and consequences for breaking them.  Those consequences are dependent upon the rule that has been broken and just how severly we’ve done the breaking.  Of course they also take into consideration which of us has done this, as consequences for Skye would certainly not be the same as those for Trip.”

 

“We have plenty to eat as well,” Fitz added.  “We don’t get a lot of junk food but sometimes we have ice cream for dessert or a special treat.  Da really likes ice cream.”  Jemma nodded in agreement.  “Mom and Da are great cooks and they take turns making supper, but da makes the best breakfast.” 

 

“Our clothes are clean and fit properly,” Jemma informed the now speechless woman who just listened as the two older children continued their litany.  “We are always on time for school and our homework is always done.”

 

“We have to bathe every night,” Fitz scowled, “even when we aren’t dirty and mom always reads us a story and kisses us good night.  We sleep in our own beds...” he looked down at Skye and frowned.  It was no time to withhold any truths.  “Sometimes we have dreadfully bad dreams,” he hugged his little sister tightly.  She had yet to lift her head or to look at Agnes.  “Mom attends to us very quickly, but sometimes...sometimes we climb into bed with her and da, because the dreams are overly stimulating and quite real.”

 

Jemma gave her brother a sympathetic nod and continued.  “We see the doctor and the dentist regularly.  We have plenty of toys and games,” she spread her arms out to show the items in the room.  “But sometimes mom and da tell us we don’t need so much.  We have friends and in August we are going to meet our grandparents.  Trip’s grandmother just moved into the apartment over the garage.  She tells us to call her grams as well.  We have so many wonderful people who care very much for us.”  Jemma was beginning to ramble.

 

Fitz stared at the carpet for a moment then drew a deep breath.  “In answer to your former inquiry, yes mom did spank me...just once,” he felt the fire in his cheeks and found it difficult to look at Agnes.  “I did something very stupid and put myself in grave danger.  I scared my parents badly and I shall not ever do it again.  My mom loves me emensely.”  Now he looked up.  “She would never harm me.”  The boy smiled a sly smirk, “and if you had done what I did your maw would have done the same.”

 

Jemma hesitated for a moment, impressed with her brother’s admission.  She felt the same blush on her face.  “I received the same punishment for the same incident, but yes our mama loves us dearly and we love her.”  Fitz’s eyes went wide.  He did not know Jemma had been punished that day in the same manner he had been.

 

“And yes we do go to church, but not always the same.”  Jemma continued, covering every aspect she could think of to complete this dreadful interview.  “Sometimes we go to Temple with Da and sometimes to St. Luke’s and sometimes St. Bartholomew’s, the former is Episcopalian like Fitz and I, and the later Roman Catholic for Skye.”

 

Fitz piped up, adding more to the information.  “Trip goes to First Baptist with his gram, now that she’s feeling well but in the past he went to Shilo Baptist at the hospital when he visited her.  Mama doesn’t have a church, but we made a visit to a Buddhist Temple in the city a few times.  Da says we can choose when we’re older, for now we get a bit of all religions.”

 

Agnes nodded at the plethora of information these two children provided as both children fell quiet, shushing their little sister who continued to whimper.  She stared at them for a moment but made no more notes.  It wasn’t necessary.  These were happy, healthy, well adjusted children.  That was what mattered most.

 

“Well, I guess you’ve given me all the information I need and I believe Skye agrees with you.”  Jemma and Fitz nodded for their little sister who hid her face in Fitz’s T-shirt.  Agnes closed her notebook and folded her hands on the table.  “How about we collect your mama and you can show me your bedrooms?  Then we can all talk together.  Would that be better?” 

 

Fitz actually smiled.

 

Two hours later Jemma and Fitz stood on the stoop of their front lawn waving to Agnes as she pulled away from the curb.  Skye kept her head buried in Melinda’s neck as she clung tightly to her mother, still refusing to have anything to do with the woman who asked too many questions. 

 

“Mama,” the little girl whispered close to Melinda’s ear.  “I get Zalty now?”

 

Melinda furrowed her brow and made an failed attempt to have Skye pick up her head.  Fitz stepped next to them as Jemma moved to open the front door.    “She insisted we hide that bloomin’ rabbit when she knew this woman was to be here this morning.  We had to move the scruffy thing four times.”  He shook his head as he looked up at his mother, squinting in the early afternoon sun.  From Skye’s perch she could peek down at her brother, he grinned at her and reached out a hand.  “Come on then, she’s gone.”  Skye smiled down at Fitz and squirmed out of her mother’s embrace.  She slid to the ground and took her brother’s hand.  Melinda watched as they followed Jemma into the house.

 

*

 

“Fitz, please stand still,” Melinda repeated for the countless time as she attempted to straighten his tie and brush his still damp hair.

 

The boy continued to squirm, dodging the brush as he grimaced at his mother. “It’ll just look the same when it dries,”  he protested.

 

Melinda raised one eyebrow and used her most firm voice with the restless little boy, “Rúguǒ nǐ bù tíngzhǐ, wǒ huì yòng zhège shuāzi zài nǐ de dǐbù, ér bùshì nǐ de tóu.”  She shook the brush in front of him to demonstrate.

 

Fitz froze, quickly placed both hands over his bottom and smiled at her threat.  “Yes, ma’am.”

 

She glared at him for a moment before matching his smile then bent down and quickly kissed his forehead.  Instead of pulling back and scrubbing off the spot she kissed, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. 

 

Melinda hugged him back before landing a playful swat on his backside.  “Okay, you’re done, get out of here and stay away from that cake.  It is for later.”

 

Fitz wasn’t ready to let go.  He nodded into her stomach and squeezed tighter.  “I love you, mama.”  He whispered softly as she wrapped her arms around him. 

 

This little guy rarely, if ever, used those words at least not without provocation so Melinda considered it a gift.  She hugged his head and smiled.  “Wǒ ài nǐ, wǒ měilì de nánhái.”

 

Fitz leaned back and looked up at his mother.  “I’m not beautiful, mom, girls are beautiful.”  He laughed. 

 

Melinda bent down until their foreheads touched.  “You are beautiful inside and out, and you always will be my sweet little boy.”

 

Fitz smiled again and took a deep breath.  “Maybe…but I won’t always be little.”

 

Melinda stood back, eyes wide with shock.  She placed her hands on Fitz’s shoulders and held him at arm’s length.  “Leopold James Fitz, don’t you dare grow up!”

 

The little boy giggled, “I can’t help it.  It happens when I sleep.” 

 

Melinda tapped his chin once and smiled broadly, spun him around and pointed him toward the bathroom door.  “Get going, Phil Jr.”  She sent him out the door with a gentle swat.

 

Phil bent out the way as Fitz ran past and moved into the bathroom as Melinda picked up a few towels.  She watched as her husband wrestled with his tie then moved to him and finished tying it for him.  “Nervous?”  She asked as she pushed it up and straightened his collar.

 

“You?”  He asked back, reached up to loosen the tie a bit and center the knot.

 

“Lil’ bit,” she answered with a smile.  It was their token answer.  “Where’s Skye?”  Melinda suddenly realized their youngest was no longer at her father’s side.

 

Phil looked down, around then moved to the doorway, and glanced down the hall.  “She was right…”

 

“Oh, Phil, you know she’s like a master spy.  You can’t let her out of your sight for a second.”

 

“I swear, Mel, she was right behind me.”  He defended himself.

 

Melinda let out a frustrated breath and pushed past him, heading for their little one’s bedroom with Phil following. 

 

Skye was not in her room, not in the playroom, the powder room or the kitchen.  Jemma had no idea where her little sister had gone and Fitz hadn’t seen her since she escaped from the bathtub and streaked down the hall with mama in hot pursuit.

 

“Dear god, how can she disappear so fast and right in front of all of us?”  Melinda asked, not expecting an answer.

 

The back door opened admitting Trip who also wore a suit and tie.  He was shaking his head and trying very hard not to laugh.  “I think you better come see this.  There just aren’t enough words to describe it.”  He held the door for his family to follow him onto the patio.

 

“SKYE!”  Melinda could not help shrieking at the sight of her baby seated in the largest mud puddle she had ever seen wrestling with what looked like…no it couldn’t be…a small pig.

 

“Look, mama!”  The little stood with the small animal wriggling in her arms.  “I founded him.  Ainee cute, mama!”

 

“Skye,” Melinda sighed, putting a hand to her head.

 

Fitz was practically rolling on the patio in laughter.  Trip was spluttering in an attempt to his in.  Jemma held a hand to her mouth, but could not contain the giggles that escaped.  Melinda spun on her husband and raised one finger to point at him.

 

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she growled through her teeth. 

 

*

 

The family entered Family Court in Washington, DC more than an hour late nodding to their friends who had been seated, ready and waiting for them to arrive.  Phil carried Skye whose hair was still damp after her second bath of the day.  Jemma held tightly to his hand. 

 

“I apologize to the court, your honor and thank you for waiting for us.  We had a…well…we…had a little wardrobe problem.”  Phil explained as he helped Jemma into a large wooden chair and seated Skye next to her.

 

Melinda followed, pointing Fitz to a second chair while Trip and his grandmother took the two seats next to Mack and Yoyo behind the wooden railing. 

 

The judge smiled at the family.  “I understand, Mr. Coulson.  The clerk informed me of your situation.  I know how important this day is to you and your children.”  He gave Skye a stern look.  She immediately hid behind her sister.

 

Phil followed the judge’s glance and grinned at Skye’s reaction.  Turning back he continued to explain, “Skye’s…well, she’s very curious and a neighbor had this little dog that looked just like a pig and…” he stopped realizing they’d held up the court long enough.  “Well, it’s a long story.”

 

The judge nodded again and laughed.  “No need to explain, Mr. Coulson.  I have children _and_ grandchildren of my own.  I know things don’t always work out the way you hope they would.  Why don’t we get started?”  Phil looked at Melinda and nodded.  “Alright then, I’ll need all of you to come stand in front of me.”

 

After a bit of chair shuffling and coaxing a still wary Skye out of her seat, Melinda, Phil and their three children stood before the judge.

“Do you children know the difference between the truth and a lie?”  He asked, eying Jemma and Fitz.

 

The pair looked at each other and then back at the judge.  Jemma spoke first, answering as if she had been asked by a teacher.  “Truth is most often used to mean being in accord with [fact](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fact) or [reality](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reality), or fidelity to an original or standard. Truth may also often be used in [modern](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modernity) contexts to refer to an idea of "truth to self," or [authenticity](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Authenticity_%28philosophy%29).  The original meaning and [essence](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Essence) of "Truth" in [Ancient Greece](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ancient_Greece) was unconcealment, or the revealing or bringing of what was previously hidden into the open.  Various theories…”  The little girl stopped abruptly when Phil rested her hands on her shoulders.  She leaned her head back to look at him, then looked back and smiled at the judge.

Fitz immediately continued as Jemma fell silent.  “A lie is a statement used intentionally for the purpose of [deception](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deception). The practice of communicating lies is called lying, and a person who communicates a lie may be termed a liar. Lies may be employed to serve a variety of instrumental, interpersonal, or psychological functions for the individuals who use them. Generally, the term "lie" carries a negative connotation, and depending on the context a person who communicates a lie may be subject to social, legal, religious, or criminal sanctions.  In certain situations, however, lying is permitted, expected, or even encouraged. Believing and acting on false information can have serious consequences. Therefore, scientists and others have attempted to develop reliable methods for distinguishing lies from true statements.”

Melinda squeezed his shoulder once.  He quickly looked up at her then back at Jemma and smiled.

For a moment, the judge was speechless.  “I…well…I…” he shuffled a few papers around his desk and moved his gavel from one side to the other.  “I guess that answers that question, but in the future it won’t be necessary to be so…so…”

“Thorough?” 

“Explicit?”

Jemma and Fitz asked at the same time.

“Yes,” the judge nodded. “Both.”

“Sorry,” Phil apologized again.  “They’re a little nervous.”  

The judge smiled.  “And how about you, sweet heart?”  He addressed Skye hoping she would not regale him with more details.  The little girl’s lip trembled for a second before she sobbed deeply and reached for Melinda who gathered her into her arms and shushed her quietly.  Phil gave an apologetic smile.

“Okay, then how about you all sweat to tell the truth and we can continue.”  Everyone nodded then verbally answered the man.  “Philip Coulson and Melinda May Coulson please state your reason for being here today.  What is your intention toward these children?” 

Jemma and Fitz turned to look at their parents.  “Our intent is to provide these children with a safe, happy and healthy home, to care for them, to raise them, to support them, provide for them and love them.”  Phil stated as if he had practiced for hours.

“And Mrs. Coulson, is this also your intent?”  The judge turned to Melinda. 

“It is, your honor.  I love these children with all my heart.”  She replied, rocking her baby back and forth.

Skye picked up her head for the first time.  She laid her hand on Melinda’s chest and looked at the judge.  “We growed heeor, acuz mama loved us afore she knowed are faces.”  She patted her mother’s chest and laid her head back down on Melinda’s shoulder still looking at the judge.  Melinda kissed her head and smiled at the judge who looked extremely confused.

“Jemma Ann Simmons,” he called to the girl.  She took a small step forward.  “These records show that you are the permanent ward of Mr. and Mrs. Coulson.  I see here you are nine years old.”  He looked to the girl for verification.

“Yes, sir, I will turn ten in September.”  Jemma answered.

“You’re a bit young, but it seems you are quite intelligent, young lady.”  He nodded toward Fitz.  “It seems you are both well beyond your years, so I’d like to know if you would like to proceed with this adoption.”

“You’re asking us?”  Fitz’s eyes widened as he stepped next to Jemma.  She turned toward him and matched his expression.  They smiled at each other and turned back to the judge, answering in unison.

“Yes sir, we do.”

“Skye does too, even though she’s just a baby, she really wants to be adopted too.”  Fitz quickly added.

The judge smiled and nodded toward Phil and Melinda.  He took several forms from the file on his desk and scribbled his signature on each then stopped and studied the last form he held.  The man looked up at the family and then at the people in the gallery.  “I know this is a little unusual but I think in this case it is perfectly suitable.”

Phil’s eyebrows knit together as he tilted his head toward his wife.  She raised an eyebrow and gave a subtle shake of her head.

“Would Antoine Raymond Triplett step forward please?”  The judge called.

Trip looked at his grandmother, who sat next to him then to Phil and Melinda.  He rose slowly as his grandmother smiled at him and patted his hand.  She nodded toward the judge.  Trip walked through the gate to stand in front of the judge.

“Mr. Triplett, your grandmother has asked this court to name the Coulson’s as your legal guardians in the event she cannot provide care for you.  Do you understand what that means?  Trip was speechless for a moment then swallowed and nodded his head.  The judge smiled.  “I need to hear your answer, young man.”

“Yes sir, it means if anything happens to my gram that I will be taken care of by my mom and da.”  He used the titles without reserve. 

The judge smiled again.  “And you agree to this?”

Trip smiled broadly.  “Yes, sir, absolutely.”

“I understand you’ve been living with the Coulsons for sometime now.”  The judge stated.

Trip started to nod then stopped himself.  “Yes, sir, a little more than a year.  My gram…grandmother was in the hospital but she’s home now.  She’s got a great little apartment over the garage.”  He turned back and smiled at his grandmother who smiled back.

“Very well, I think we’re just about done here.  He scribbled a signature on the last form and handed the pile to the clerk.  As of today the young people gathered here shall be now and forever legally, financially, emotionally and physically the children of Phillip and Melinda May Coulson and shall from this day forward be known as Jemma Ann Coulson-Simmons…”

Jemma smiled, took a deep breath and reached for Phil’s hand.  He squeezed it softly and grinned back at her.

The judge continued, “Leopold James Coulson-Fitz…”

“But I’ll still just be called Fitz?”  Fitz asked as his brow raised high. 

The judge nodded.  “I’ll make a special note of it.”  He looked at the last form in his hand and then to Skye who now stood on a chair next to her siblings in order to see the judge and for him to see her.  “You little lady are the tiniest one of this group and for some reason have the biggest name.”  He laughed a short laugh as the little girl wriggled enough to have her mother place both hands on her waist to keep her from falling onto the judge’s desk.

“I no wanna be Maywee Soup no mower, kay Miser Jud?”  Skye tilted her head and put out that little hand, bouncing in up and down in front of her.

“I understand little lady,” he smiled.  “From this day forward you shall be known legally as Skye Mary Claire Mieying Coulson.”

Skye spun on the chair so quickly Melinda almost lost her grip.  The little girl pointed to her chest, poking it repeatedly.  “I Skye now, mama.  Misser Jud sayed I Skye.  We tell Sisser Dannel, mama.  Her no call me Maywee Soup no mower.”  She finished with a scowl and a shake of the same little finger.

The judge looked to Trip.  “Son, your grandmother will still have a say in your upbringing and will still be part of your life.  The Coulsons will become responsible for you in every way they have been for the past year.  I ask at this time if you would like to add the family name to your own.  It is your choice and can be done at any time in the future should you wish.”

Trip shuffled his feet for a moment, looking down to avoid letting anyone see the tear that escaped from his eye.  He looked to his gram who gave a quick nod, then spoke with confidence to the judge.  “Your honor,” he began then turned to face Phil.  “I would be honored to have this man’s name.  This is if he’d be okay with me having it.”  Phil smiled and put out a hand to the boy.  When Trip took it to shake, Phil pulled him into a bear hug. 

“I’d be just as proud to have you as my son,” he whispered to the boy.

“What would you like to be called young man?”  The judge inquired, ready to write down the name.

“Antoine Raymond Coulson-Triplett,” Trip replied with pride.

The judge wrote the information and handed the last of the forms to the clerk, then faced the gallery.  “Ladies and gentleman, I am guessing you are all in some way related to this adoption and so let me be the first to introduce to you The Coulson Family.”  With that announcement, he dropped his gavel making the adoptions final. 

The gallery erupted in applause.  Fitz jumped in the air to ‘high-five’ Trip then spun Jemma in a tight hug.  He really didn’t care who saw him.  Skye reached for Phil who took her and covered her with kisses before settling her on his hip and pulling Melinda in for a kiss as well.  Trip wrapped Jemma in a hug then felt himself smothered in Melinda’s, with both Jemma and Fitz sandwiched in between.  The judge broke up the hug-fest in order to have family photo taken in front of the Great Seal of The District of Columbia. 

*

The celebration at the Coulson house lasted well into the night.  Hunter and Bobbi surprised everyone with sweatshirts emblazoned with COULSON on the front and a large numeral on the back.  Phil’s sported the numeral one, Melinda two and so on down to Skye whose shirt was almost taken up entirely by the large numeral six.

Sister Mary Claire dried the tears from her eyes as she thanked Melinda for giving her little doll baby her name.  She was truly touched to have this little imp share her name.  Phil and Melinda surprised her a second time that day telling her that they had already arranged to have Father Joe baptize their baby with her new name.  They asked the little nun to stand as Godmother for Skye, while Mack would have the honor of being Godfather.

It was well after eleven before Mel got Skye calm enough even to consider bedtime.  She pulled the covers up to the little girl’s chin and kissed both of her eyes.

“I no tired, mama.” Skye yawned as she reached for Salty.

Melinda sat on the bed and brushed the little girl’s hair from her eyes.  “I think you’ve had a very big day and it’s way past time for my baby to go to sleep.”

Skye turned on her side and tucked both hands under her cheek.  “Wǒ ài nǐ māmā.”   Her words barely audible as she was asleep before Melinda stood and kissed her again.

 

“Yǒngyuǎn, bǎobèi, forever and ever.” She sighed as she turned out the light.

Fitz leaned against the wall in the hallway.  Melinda shook her head noticing him.  “What are you doing out of bed?”

 

He shrugged, “I’m not tired either.”

 

“Mmm, hmm,” she nodded and reached out a hand that he took.  “I think you’re just about as tired as your sister.”

 

“Jemma’s not tired either.” He nodded toward the little girl standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

 

Melanda rolled her eyes and let out a fluttery breath.  “Tired or not, you are both going to bed.”

 

“But, we’re not babies like Skye and Trip is still downstairs and everyone is still celebrating.  Why must we go to bed?”  Jemma almost whined.

 

Taking a deep breath and counting to ten in English and then in Mandarin, Melinda frowned at both of her children.  “Because it is almost midnight” she answered Jemma’s question then looked to Fitz who was about to protest.  “And because I said so and I am _the mother_.”   She squeezed his hand and shook it a little as she pulled him and pushed Jemma into her room.  Moving to the bed, she picked up the blanket and pointed to the mattress.  “In,” she ordered.

 

The ‘twins’ looked at each other with open smiley mouths then ran and clambered into the bed.  Melinda pulled the covers over both of them.  Right now it was just easier to put the two of them together.  They could sort it out later or just let them sleep in the same bed.  She leaned over Jemma and kissed Fitz three times before he escaped her affections and slid under the blanket.  Jemma giggled at his antics.  Melinda moved to her daughter, kissing her on both cheeks and then the tip of the nose.  She sat on the edge of the bed and sighed at the wide away pair that stared back.

 

“Okay, eyes closed,” she waited a moment then repeated the order with a bit more authority.  Both children complied.  She began singing a song her father had sung to her so many times and yet for years she hadn’t thought of it.  Jemma snuggled into her pillow and Fitz took a deep breath before turning on his side and pulling his legs almost to his chest.

 

“Wǒ yǒngyuǎn ài nǐ, mama, forever and ever.”  He whispered before giving in to sleep.

 

Melinda rose, kissed both children again and turned out the light.  She was surprised to see Phil standing in the doorway.

 

“Wondered what was taking so long,” he quipped as she stood in front of him.  He bent forward and softly kissed her forehead.

 

“Over excited, I guess…but everyone’s out now.”  She breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

“Want me to put him in his own bed?” he nodded toward Fitz.

 

Melinda patted her hand against his chest.  “No, just leave them, they’ll be fine.”  Phil nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they moved into the hallway and headed for the stairs.

 

Two hours later a curly haired little boy and a very serious little girl held a dark haired almond-eyed toddler into their parent’s bedroom.  No one screamed and no nightmare chased anyone from their bed.  One by one the children climbed on to the king sized bed and found a spot to snuggle into between their mom and dad.  Melinda smiled in half sleep as Skye pulled herself onto her mother’s chest.  The little girl rested her head again Melinda’s heart.  Fitz curled up next to her while Jemma snuggled into Phil’s embrace.  Trip stood in the doorway, rubbing one eye and smiling at the sight.

 

“Ummon Frip, you a Coesun too,” Skye mumbled sleepily.

 

Phil lifted the blanket, confirming the invitation.

 

Trip climbed up from the bottom of the bed and snuggled in between Fitz and Jemma. 

 

Phil and Melinda opened their hearts to four youngsters who fit into the empty space left there by fate.

 

They opened their home to orphans and children with troubles and problems and heartache and tragedy.

 

They opened their arms and embraced all of them.

 

They opened their sleeping space even when the nightmares were chased away for good

 

Their lives would never be the same.

 

Sister Mary Claire had given them a blessing before she left.

 

Children are a gift from the Lord, a reward from him.

They are like arrows in the hands of a warrior.

Blessed is the man whose quiver is full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the story I've loved writing....  
> BUT  
> It will continue in a series entitled Parenting thru the Alphabet

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this far...let me know if I should keep it moving along.


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